


When it Rains in Orgrimmar

by KaedeRavensdale



Series: When it Rains in Orgrimmar [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: A/B/O dynamic, Alpha Garrosh, Cultural Differences, Forbidden Love, Imprinting, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Omega Anduin, Paladin Anduin, Slight AU since Anduin's 18, Slow Burn, Wrath Era, head canons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: He’d grown up in Garadar on the stories of the Great mother, filled with assurances that all Alphas had Omegas and that when he met his, as was inevitable, he’d know. Now an adult and deeply entrenched in the war between the Alliance and the New Horde Garrosh Hellscream knows better than to believe in such fantasies. The likelihood that he’d ever meet an Omega with how damn rare they were, let alone one unspoken for which would want anything to do with him, were somewhere between pigs flying and it raining in Orgrimmar.Of course, he’d had no way of accounting for the young lion about to come barreling into his life: an Omega forced to hide beneath the façade of an Alpha by the barbaric practices of his own race. He’d tried to keep away from him, couldn’t suffer the humiliation of falling for a Human of all things, but the little brat just refused to leave him be. And then, of course, the Lich King had to go and get involved.





	1. The Argent Lion

As much of an amusement as a nearly endless supply of enemies could afford him on even his worst days, Northrend was an arctic hellscape colder than Gul’dan’s desiccated asshole and Garrosh Hellscream didn’t like it. He also didn’t particularly like the terrain of the area known as the Borean Tundra-what in the name of the ancestors was _wrong_ with Humans and their damned naming practices? Even to a warrior like him the place was on Arthas’ doorstep and that made it a threat, and if you had even half a Murloc’s brain-and by the elements the Murloc presence in the area was another matter entirely, as was that of the organization of rabid Druids calling themselves D.E.H.T.A-you wouldn’t consider it a good idea to name it something pronounced ‘boring’-couldn’t quite figure out what in the fuck it wanted to do with itself and the rash of Kobolds-Snowbolds? Was there even a damn difference? Did it matter if there was? -which enjoyed pilfering their supplies the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive liked it much better than he liked where they’d ended up.

            The Dragonblight really did live up to its name. A near lifeless slick of ice and snow so cold that touching it could burn the skin of even the hardiest Orc, interrupted only by jagged outcroppings of rock and the bones of the beasts. The graceful form of the Temple rose in the far distance. At least there’d been milder-he was using this term loosely-weather in the Tundra. At least that region had had enough variance, between rolling plains and sulfurous steam vents and forests of bizarre looking crimson plants, that looking at it for extended periods didn’t make him want to gouge his eyes out and throw them at a wall.

            Zosha seemed to share her rider’s sentiment, expelling a column of steam from her short fang lined muzzle and grumbling against the biting wind. The scrub and grass, poking with an admirable Orc-like tenacity through a feet thick layer of permafrost which carpeted the tundra had given way to rock and ice just over an hour before and the massive battle worg, born and bred on the plains of Nagrand a world away from Azeroth, had begun to limp not long after that. Garrosh knew full well that this was simply the beast’s way of complaining rather than a sign that she’d been injured and ignored it. Snowflakes, thick and wet, had frozen a ruff of silver down her smoky coat.

            “Overlord,” one of the Orcs among his party, a stout mace-wielder named Lurog, called up to him in a gruff voice which carried over the wind, “we’ll reach the cross point into the Dragonblight within the next hour. The Elf assured us that the Argents would already be present at Moa’ki Harbor, ready to depart by the time we arrive.”

            Garrosh relegated his response to a grunt and little else. Other races of the Horde might have taken offense at such a lack of acknowledgement, their desperate clinging to obscene wordiness reflected in the absurd amounts of floral trappings present in the languages they spoke, but Orcs didn’t require such things; their every interaction brief and to the point. A superior means of communication, in his opinion, and the reason that Orcish was the Lingua Franca of the Horde.

            Unlike the Alliance and their damned floaty Common, 99% bullshit and 1% substance and a trouble to listen to even then. If they managed not to choke on the sheer volume of letters most of their soldiers fell before their commanders finished getting out their orders to begin with. Not to mention how ugly it sounded, and felt, to speak it; sounds far too polished and round and with a prevalence of tongue to teeth contact which was entirely unnatural.

            Much to Garrosh’s misfortune, given his position, Thrall had forced him to learn to speak it and much to his displeasure he was proficient enough to be consider fluent. Though that did put him above the Alliance’s stupid King, who only knew enough Orcish to curse like a sailor and ask after the location of the shitter.

            At least this little venture would get him away from Varok Saurfang for a time. If asked, Garrosh would be forced to admit-reluctantly-that he respected the grizzled veteran of countless wars for all he’d done and gone through but his near to constant moralizing really drove him up a wall. Though he wasn’t certain if prolonged interaction with a party of the Argent Crusade would turn out any better.

            He’d yet to truly interact with the organization and thusly couldn’t really judge them by evidence but any organization which held itself out to be neutral set itself up from the start to rub him the wrong way. And so far, the war with the Lich King had forced the Horde to work with two. Well, three if one counted the Ebonblade though the Death Knights beneath its banner had sworn individual allegiance to the Faction they’d originally come from, which was more than either the Argent Crusade or the Kirin Tor could say.

            Given all that had happened to his people and his world Garrosh wasn’t terribly fond of magic and its users as it was and so the fact that the Kirin Tor of Dalaran was made up entirely of Mages, never mind the fact that they’d accept Alliance into their ranks- _Humans_ most especially-did absolutely nothing to endear them to him. And though the class of Paladins had first been developed for the reputable purpose of rooting out the Shadow Council’s Warlocks they were still wielders of Magic, all be it Holy Magic rather than the Arcane, and most of them, especially among their leadership, were _Human_.

            Not to mention the little detail that Arthas had been a Paladin himself, once, before going mad with power. Tainting himself for the sake of his pride. There was no greater crime, in his eyes.

            Garrosh had yet to meet a Human that he liked, or could even tolerate, and doubted that he ever would.  Thrall, for reasons that he absolutely couldn’t comprehend, was quite good friends with the Kul Tiran Mage-a Human and a Mage, by the elements his mentor had no taste-but he could have happily thrown their entire race into a bottomless hole and been done with it. Perhaps the rest of the Alliance as well, including all of the blue goats still on Draenor. Save them all the trouble.

            But, naturally, there was nothing Garrosh could really do about the matter. The fact was that the operation of stealing Kel’thuzad’s phylactery from the massive undead Dragon carrying it and then busting into Naxxramas and bringing the Lich-formerly a Human _and_ a Mage, funny that-finally to justice needed the aid of someone, the Horde’s own forces spread too thin. He could only hope that few of those making up the party sent to aid them if any were Human.

            The cobbled icy road they’d been following for most of the morning as it wended its way between trees stripped bare by the cold, alive with the constant trickling of water which never seemed to grow closer, at last gave way into the expanse of the Borea River. Choked with great drifts of floating ice, coated with a deceptive quilt of thick snow, the clear water-fed by a pair of half frozen waterfalls leading up to the mostly drained Lake Wintergrasp-had cut deep swaths through the Arctic’s black rock. The banks were too jagged and high to climb and between the cold and the wind it was without doubt that anything which fell into it would freeze to death long before it could get back out again.

            Garrosh treated the first of a pair of rickety bridges, made up entirely of wooden planks and ropes woven from plant fibers and slung from anchors of whale bone, to a dubious eye before nudging his mount forwards. The worg grumbled again but did as he bid and trotted out onto the wood, the construction swinging dangerously beneath every step the company of Orcs took.

            All the while the river continued to eddy and trickle, looking for all the world like a hungry predator lying in wait.

            It didn’t take long to reach their destination after making it to the other side, though first they had to bypass an encampment full of Night Elves and navigate a forest full of rabid animals. Standard fare, really. Nothing terribly difficult.

Moa’ki Harbor was a dim cold place, much like the rest of the Dragonblight, and wet with its proximity to the gelid waters of the North Sea. The buildings in which the walrus men lived were short and wide, much like the Tuskarr themselves, built from wood and hide and whale bones and illuminated from within by fires never allowed to burn out. The cadre of Crusaders had been sheltering in one of them to keep warm, a fact which was alluded to by the Crusader-an Orc and a Warrior rather than a Paladin-who’d been standing outside the structure keeping watch for them.

He greeted them with a hearty “Lok tar ogar” and a fist to the chest which contacted his breastplate with a resonant clang. Garrosh afforded him a satisfied nod as he turned to call the others. “The Warsong cadre has arrived. Ready your things, we’ve no time to waste in heading east.”

A rustle and a forest of clatters as packs were grabbed and slung across backs. Voices and laughter mingled together as the Crusaders emerged, one by one, up the narrow channel leading to the inner doorway. Another Orc, a woman this time, came first followed by a massive Tauren and a Blood Elf with a mane of hair the color of flames: both Paladins. A Dwarf came next, a sword nearly to big for him strapped to his back, followed by a Draeni Priestess and then the stooped form of a Troll. And then, bringing up the rear, a Human.

Satisfaction at finding a minority of Alliance and the brief flicker of hate at the realization he hadn’t gotten free of subjection to their race all ground to a sudden halt as the wind changed, blowing a powdered scent towards him which was instantly recognizable. Golden eyes went wide, then narrowed.

The Human youth, clad in the silver plate and wearing a tabard of the Crusade and with a mace bejeweled and threaded with gold strapped to his back, held himself like an Alpha, spoke like an Alpha and had come out to a field of war like an Alpha and yet, somehow, a single sight of him was all it took for Garrosh to know the truth.

Omega.

But what in the elements was he doing there, armed and in danger? Omega, the water and earth to an Alpha’s wind and fire, were far too precious to be risked in such a way. War and fighting was an Alpha’s place. A Beta’s place. Its was tantamount to blasphemy to have something so delicate, so rare, in harm’s way.

The Elf and Draeni and Dwarf and Tauren not reacting was one thing but the Orc crusader and his men not being in uproar? They didn’t know. The Human must have taken some measure to conceal his scent and make himself smell like a Beta, if not an Alpha.

Then why could Garrosh smell him, clear as day? For a moment, before being viciously pushed back into the darkest reaches of his memory where it belonged, an old fairy tale the Great Mother had told him, ages ago now, forced itself to the forefront of his mind.

“Overlord Hellscream,” the Orc Crusader pulled his attention reluctantly away, “Highlord Fordring sends his regards along with some of our best and brightest.” He indicated the female Orc. “Keheta, a Shaman the likes of which I’ve rarely seen.” Next came the Tauren “Tocho,” and the Blood Elf “and Rahaen; both able Paladins specialized in Protection and Retribution respectively.” Then the Troll. “Tzuni, who can hit a ghoul thirty feet out with a throwing axe.” With the Horde races out of the way he turned to the Alliance members of their party. Had it not been for the Omega this would be the point at which Garrosh would have ceased to pay attention. “The Draeni is Baate, a veteran of the Outland campaign. The Dwarf is Berk. And then we have Anduin, our navigator.”

The young Omega inclined his head, eyes collecting the platinum light and appearing silver in color rather than their natural blue. There was something about them, and his features, that was strangely familiar but Garrosh couldn’t quite manage to place what it was. “Hello Overlord.”

So he was a ‘navigator’, then? That was better, he supposed, than having him out there actually using that weapon but it still didn’t sit entirely well with him. “He speaks Orcish well enough.” Though not without a noticeable accent, vowels too rounded and stresses not quite as harsh as they should have been. “But is it necessary to have dragged him along just for that?”

“Anduin’s not fully finished with his training, Overlord. Though he’s among the strongest in the Light I’ve yet seen, especially for his age, it’d be irresponsible to give him another position.” Though they all knew he’d likely end up seeing some combat anyway, or else he wouldn’t have that weapon. “The Highlord considers this a learning experience.”

“Assualting Naxxramas is a learning experience?” Maybe for an Orc but Humans were weak and delicate. Except Varian. Varian was about as delicate and graceful as a concussed highly agitated Gronn but that was an entirely different matter. Not to mention that Varian was an Alpha.

An Alpha with far greater, uninhibited access to the Omega in front of him, who was pretty for a Human and-that thought process needed to be stopped _immediately_.

The ‘navigator’, Anduin, had taken exception to his last comment. “I may only be 18 name years, Overlord Hellscream, but between Fearbreaker and the Light I am _not_ defenseless. And I don’t need the protection of my father or of you.”

Garrosh grunted; if not for his scent, even with his small size-small even among Humans who-again baring Varian-were about the size of an Orcish Child while fully grown, and built like a Talbuk-he might have believed that he really was an Alpha. Omega, after all, weren’t commonly known to keep prolonged eye contact with a challenging Alpha yet that was precisely what Anduin was doing, setting his jaw all the while. Offensive as it was to Orcish culture- _proper_ Orcish culture-the Argent Lion was a Human and thus not his problem. It didn’t affect him if the Alliance saw fit to throw something away which was so valuable, so hard to come by. All the better that the enemies of that Horde had that handful less stronger soldiers the Omega before him might stand to bare. Whoever his Alpha was they deserved to be skinned. “You better not, runt.” He grunted, feigning disinterest. “We’ll see if you still say the same once a ghoul has started chewing off your face.”

Which, that traitorous part of him was quick to supply, that same part that had first become agitated by the realization of Varian’s greater access to him, the primal part which was all instinct and Alpha want, would really be a shame because for his race-and his gender, honestly-he was beautiful. Skin the milky alabaster color of the crystal comprising Oshu’gun; hair like spun gold, pulled back at the nape of his neck, a long and graceful virgin column perfect for littering with claim marks; eyes bright and keen, gleaming with a level of intelligence he hadn’t previously thought Humans capable of and matching shade almost exactly with Empyrean Sapphires.

Rather than lead him to quail Anduin only drew himself up further. “I’m perfectly capable of handling a handful of low undead myself. And even if I couldn’t, no one in the Argent Crusade fights alone. We are, after all, all one in the Light.”

Another grunt-Garrosh had no interest in listening to a Paladin’s impassioned prattle about the ‘Light’ no matter how pretty they were-as he turned away, gripping Zosha’s reigns tight in one hand. “Get your mounts and gear together, Argents. The Lich won’t sit around and wait for us and I, for one, don’t want to delay splitting skulls any longer than I have to.”

“You heard the Overlord, get your things together.” The first Crusader, who seemed to also be the one in charge, barked. “Anduin, you have the route drawn up?”

The young Human dipped his head again. “Yes, Garel; right here.” He pulled a neatly rolled up map from within his armor. “The best route is marked in black; potential alternatives in blue. Areas of risk are denoted in red. There’s some notable risk of encountering Nerubians in the area around the Ice Mist Bluffs but we should be fairly safe once beyond that provided we keep an eye out for Frostwyrms.” Tracing one plate clad finger along the black line etched across the map, Anduin indicated a carefully sketched star midway between Wyrmrest Temple and their destination. “Though Wyrmrest would offer greater shelter I can’t be certain testing the Red Dragon Flight’s patience with the presence of so many Orcs would be wise. The next best place to camp which we could reasonably stand to reach before nightfall is here.”

Well, maybe delegating a navigator wasn’t entirely pointless; the information provided was far more synthesized and in depth, admittedly, than what would come out of shoving a map into the nearest peon’s face and demanding that they read it.

In no small part because peons _couldn’t_ read but still.

The Orc Crusader who appeared to be in charge nodded and passed the map back to him. “Thorough, as always. Well done.” He said. “Go collect Reverence, Anduin. As the Overlord said, we’re heading out.”

“Thank you, sir.” After acknowledging Garrosh once more with a still slightly offended sounding “Overlord Hellscream” he turned at last and trotted away through the thick snow towards a white horse tied to a tree nearby. The little omega’s motion as he pulled himself up into the saddle was graceful, a smooth ripple of muscle beneath fabric and plate, and perfect balance and posture was displayed as he settled himself primly into place with one hand on the reigns. It was the ease with which Garrosh found himself able to envision that body, supple and hairless, bare and beneath him that finally allowed him to once more tear his eyes away.

“Move it, peon’s!” He barked at the group of Orcs he’d brought with him from Warsong Hold, all still astride their worgs. A great rush of motion followed his command and they all moved as one back out of the Tuskarr settlement and onto the ice encrusted road. The small group of Argent Crusaders and their accompanying wide range of mounts-an emerald plumed hawkstrider, a grey Elekk, an olive scaled raptor, the white- _stop looking at the damn Omega! -_ soon fell in behind them.

Unfailingly, though the atmosphere remained tense and dour, the non-Orcs present within their group causing the amount of unnecessary noise to multiply by a quotient of four. Baate and Tocho compared the differing views of their races on the origins and nature of the Light and argued, civilly-which really was unfortunate as a fight between the two might have made the forced torture of staring at the frozen forest around them a bit less mind numbing-about which of them was right. Berk and Tzuni were discussing the advantages of throwing axes and throwing hammers in different environments, the Dwarf occasionally belting out a laugh loud enough to set off avalanches in the nearby mountain peaks. Anduin, even now, had his map splayed open across his lap, pinned down by the same hand he was using to revise their route repeatedly with a stick of charcoal as he idly chatted with Rahaen; another Alpha, all-be-it one who was clueless of the fact that the Human beside him wasn’t.

Daznikk looked over at him curiously when he let out a low growl but Garrosh ignored him.

Three hours in the Ice Mist Bluffs came into view; Taunka architecture in the form of brightly colored totems and suspended rope bridges decorating the tops. Snow began to fall again, the sudden flakes plummeting gracelessly between the loose grown trees and barren canopy; landing on their skin and armor and in the carpet of snow already around them with wet sounding thwacks. It was quiet. Too quiet. Something wasn’t right, senses honed in battle against ogres and Demons warning of the presence of enemies unseen. He pulled Zosha to a firm stop.

Again his gaze was drawn, like a magnet, to Anduin. The Human had stiffened in his saddle, his only motion the occasional rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the turn of his head, keen eyes examining his surroundings. A Stag Talbuk aware to danger nearby, though whether he’d flee his attackers of gore them to death with hoof and horn was yet unclear.

“Overlord-?”

“ _Quiet!_ ” He snarled, pulling Gorehowl from his back. “We’ve walked into an ambush.”

No sooner had he ordered such then did the snow explode around them; the frigid silence shattering into the madness of a feral melee. Nerubians clawed their way upwards from under their feet in a flurry of spider like legs and chittering mouth parts, sending mounts scattering and knocking riders to the frozen ground. Shouts and yells and epithets as a horde of flyers descended from the cloudy sky. A litany of shattering cracks as a Crypt Lord came thundering through the forest, carrying with it the stench of carrion and the clattering of chitinous body parts.

Blades and spells and acidic venom flew through the air. Garrosh was pleased to see his men had recovered and formed ranks within moments of being confronted by the undead fiends, Orcs and worgs already having begun the process of cutting their way through the Arachnid tide towards the hulking scarab monstrosity. The Argents, too, had reconvened and were moving forward. Tocho slinging around a blade in one hand and a shield in the other, slicing and battering his way onwards. Shards of the earth, still half molten, were ripping up through the frozen ground to impale any of the undead who weren’t quick enough to move out of the way in time. Anduin had drawn his mace and swung down from his mount, face set into an expression of determination, but barely managed to take two steps forwards before the Dwarf nearly knocked him over.

“Oi, laddie! Ya stay right there! Yer father will ‘ave _all_ our bloody hides if ya get hurt!”

Anduin appeared, for a moment, as if he was going to argue or maybe push passed the other Crusader but then he set his jaw and returned Fearbreaker to its place. Berk, satisfied, barreled back into the fray but though he’d apparently agreed to stay out of the melee itself the omega wasn’t about to stand idly by. Light flickered along his fingers, solidifying into what almost looked like some sort of golden crystal as it took form into a hammer. Displaying admirable aim and an impressive arm, he lobbed said hammer at the nearest Nerubian and split its carapace in twain. With a chittering shriek, foul ichor splattering across the ice, it rolled onto its back and went still.

Garrosh was again forced to redirect his attention as the Crypt lord bore down on him with a cacophonous roar, rearing up onto its hind legs to come down and crush them.

The Warsong Overlord lunged forward with a roar of his own and swung his axe with all the force that he could muster. Gorehowl’s jagged edge bit through the beast’s chitinous armor, more black ichor splattering his face and chest plate. The Crypt Lord shrieked again and toppled over with an earth-shaking thump but the fall of their leader did nothing to slow the others down.

A screech and a yelp echoed from behind him and Garrosh spun around in time to see a Swarmer dive at Anduin from above. The Omega swiped at the beast with his mace, missed and lost his grip on the handle with the strength of the Nerbuian’s impact with his body. Claws wedging into armor and ripping him skyward.

Keheta fired a lightning bolt at the Swarmer but it flew just shy. Another Swarmer collided with the Paladin’s back, biting down on the hard plate of his spaulder and ripping him free of the other’s grip. Yowling, a sound born more out of alarm than pain, the young human twisted around in his armor like a cat would in its skin. Pushing largely vainly at his captor as he was carried higher.

The Alpha within him, the primal instinct which cared only for the fact that he was looking at an omega in dire distress, ignorant of the fact that he was Alliance, at his core, and the enemy, roared to life. Flooding him with adrenaline and acting before his mind could catch up. One moment he was standing beside the fallen Crypt Lord and the next Gorehowl was sailing through the air towards the offending Swarmer and he was running through the blood turned snow.

The Swarmer let out a last high-pitched shriek as it was cleaved in half, Anduin tumbling into a drift of snow with a muted thud and his axe landing not far away. Another Nerubian was running towards where the Omega lay semi-dazed, drooling acid from its fangs. He snatched Fearbreaker from where it lay fallen, clunky and too light but better than nothing, and charged forward faster than before but already knew he wouldn’t reach the Human in time.

Shaking himself out and rolling up onto all fours Anduin caught sight of the Nerubian bearing down on him, cursed and lunged for the nearest available weapon: Gorehowl. Fumbling through the frigid snow he caught hold of the axe’s handle and, though he had to put his entire body behind the weapon to do it, managed to lift the blade and swing. The undead dodged the blow and sprung for his exposed back only to have the Omega come back around and drive the hilt through its skull with a sickening splat. Bracing his foot against its chest and stumbling slightly as the weapon came free.

“ _That’s my weapon, runt!”_ Garrosh bellowed as the Omega turned towards him, a few locks of golden hair having escaped the tie he wore and tumbling down into icy blue eyes alight with the fury of battle. The sight of it was almost enough to throw off his gait.

“A bit too heavy for me, Overlord, though it did save my life.” He said. “I think we should trade.”

Once the smaller mace was back in his hands the Paladin bounded into the fray, fending off attackers as he flitted about between the injured. Not about to allow himself to be shown up by a _Human_ Garrosh didn’t hesitate in following.

By the time the fiends finally stopped coming his armor and his weapons were equally splattered in gore. The other Paladins and the Priest had joined the effort of healing the wounded; mostly minor injuries from clawed limbs and acid burns. Anduin still appeared attractively disheveled-damn it he needed to regain control of himself. He _hated_ Humans! What was he doing? -as he came trotting back over to him.

“Have you been seen to Overlord?”

Seen to? Garrosh glared up at him a moment before what he meant snapped into place. “I’m not injured. Even if I was, the wounds these aberrations could have hoped to inflict on me wouldn't be dire enough to justify subjecting myself to your _magic_.”

Gilded eyebrows drew together in concern. “I’m not certain-.”

“I know my limits, boy!” He snarled. “You’re the one who was dropped on his head.” Not to mention the sizable corrosion mark on his once gleaming left spaulder.

“The snowdrift cushioned my fall. Bumps and bruises. I’ll be fine.”

Garrosh grunted and turned away. Starting back towards where Zosha was prodding at a severed swarmer limb. “Then make yourself useful and get my men back on their feet within the next five minutes. I won’t suffer any unnecessary delays.”

He heard the small sigh before the Human answered with “yes, Overlord,” and retreated back the way he’d come.

At least the brat was obedient.

And good at what he did, too, apparently because though it wasn’t quite five minutes later that they were on the road again it was close enough. Another, incident free hour later they’d left the forest behind for open ground. All present in their party took a shift watching the sky, even Anduin, though that was the only time Garrosh saw him without his face buried in that map of his. He took his assigned role quite seriously.

How often he caught himself staring was really getting out of hand.

They passed Wyrmrest Temple at last while hanging on the cusp of evening, its rounded spire thick with glinting scales and massive wings as the Dragons which inhabited it kept watch for Scourge and Blues. The campsite which Anduin had indicated at the beginning of their journey was a further two miles from the Temple, a flat expanse of ice between two hills and a ridge of dragon bone. With the sun on the cusp of vanishing below the horizon and plunging them into darkness the beleaguered party managed to stoke a fire set up tents and start cooking a small meal before they lost the light completely.

Anduin was silent through the raucous dinner conversation, alternating between staring into his bowl of stew and staring to the Northwest, towards the Wrath Gate and beyond it Icecrown. He had no input on who would take first watch nor did he show any sign of acknowledgement that he was even paying attention to what was going on around him at all. From the looks of sympathetic pity afforded to him by the other Argents Garrosh was able to glean both that such behavior wasn’t normal for him and that the others knew what the root of it was.

Garrosh knew, of course, about the disaster at the Wrathgate that one of Sylvanas’ damned Apothecaries had caused. Knew that many good soldiers of the Horde and Alliance dogs had died that day. Had he been mated after all and simply not marked? Had he lost his alpha there?

Had the jealousy which welled up within him then been a physical thing he’d have broken its neck and flung it into the fire.

Anduin went with the others to bed within an hour of nightfall, vanishing into one of the furthest tents leaving Garrosh alone with his thoughts and the flickering flames. As he stared into the fire, Gorehowl leaning close at hand, he could almost make out shapes. Flashes of images of the stories the Great Mother had told him. Of how the elements had created the first of the Orcs as perfect beings and that, in punishment for their vanity, the spirits had split each in two to bare the curse of incompleteness until they found their fated mate. _Their_ Omega. When he’d been young, weak from Red Pox and on the verge of death, the stories had been a refuge. Both an assurance that there was _someone_ out there for him, who’d want _him_ and of the temptation of the challenge of having the search the world to find them. But as he’d grown up he’d come to the inevitable reality that her stories had been just that.

Stories.

The Demon taint to which his father had consigned their people, and from which he’d later saved them, had all but wiped the dynamic out on Draenor and even on Azeroth his chances weren’t much better. Alphas made up three percent of a race’s population. Omegas made up less than one. Counting Anduin, he’d seen two in his entire life and the other one had been a Blood Elf.

Even still, even had they been prevalent, his chances wouldn’t have been any better. He was too harsh. Too large. His appearance alone enough to terrify most of who looked at him. And though Gromm, ultimately, had liberated the Orcs the name of Hellscream was still a curse. A brand. It hung above him like a shadow. And even if he were to ever find an unmated Omega whom it would be acceptable for an Orc to court his chances for success were about equal to the likelihood that it would rain in Orgrimmar.

Much like the ruined world he’d come from, Garrosh was doomed to forever remain a fractured portion of a whole.

The sound of something scraping against the ground nearby tore him from his trance and he reached for his axe, only to discover blue eyes staring at him in alarm from across the orange flames. “It’s cold out here.” Anduin’s voice was quiet, as if he feared that speaking too loudly might shatter some sacred covenant with the night of which Garrosh wasn’t aware. “I’m moving my rock closer to the fire. I thought you heard me earlier, Overlord. I hadn’t meant to startle you.”

Garrosh grunted and released his grip on Gorehowl. “What are you doing out here? It’s not change of watch.”

Anduin shuffled about almost uncomfortably for a moment, ensuring once again that the rock was close enough to the fire for his satisfaction, before sitting down on it. “I couldn’t sleep.” He said. “I thought I’d sit out here a while until…my thoughts settled.”

Another grunt, this one edging closer to a growl. “So you _did_ lose your Alpha at the Wrathgate.” That came out sending more like an accusation than he’d meant it too but Anduin was too busy trying not to topple into the fire in surprise to notice.

“I-I’m not-!”

“Don’t play dumb with me, brat. You may pretend to be an Alpha but it was obvious what you are the moment I smelled you.”

Blue eyes stared at him from across the dancing flames, the orange light flickering in the wide glassy panes. Once more he looked like a Talbuk fixed in a Hunter’s sights, but the expression passed quickly into confusion. His body cringing inwards in a reaction of fear the source of which Garrosh couldn’t fathom. “But how? I-I was raised as an Alpha. Have used pheromone rinses for my entire life. Suppressants to keep my heats to a minimum. How could you know? You’re the only Alpha who ever has.”

The only explanation was foolishness, for a number of reasons, and one Garrosh didn’t want to look in the face of. He didn’t need to further encourage this undue fascination with the Human in front of him. "Why are you hiding from what you are?”

“Because of obligations to my father. To my people. And,” that coiled posture intensified, one arm reaching across his body to clutch at the other, “for my own safety.”

“Safety?” he repeated. “Yes, having Alphas waiting on you hand and foot must surely be dangerous.”

Anduin made a bitter chuffing sound. “Maybe that’s what it’s like for your kind. For mine, Omegas at best are second class citizens. And Deltas?” he shook his head in disgust and kicked at the snow. “It doesn’t matter who my father is, how much he fights to protect me, if my secret ever got out I’d end up in a whore house within a month. So, no. My Alpha didn’t die at Wrath Gate. I’ll never have an Alpha, unless I’m spirited away by someone in the Horde and that would never happen. No one in your Faction would want a Human mate. But Bolvar Fordragon was still important to me; he was there for me when no one else was. What about you?”

“What about me?”

There was a quiet resentment in his eyes, now, which led Garrosh to think that they might well be in something of the same boat. “Where’s your mate, Overlord? Surely an Alpha like you could have the pick of the crop. Omega. Beta. Even other Alphas; I’ve heard it’s happened.”

That sounded like mating with disaster. “You assume that Alphas have more power than they truly do and that your classification are little more than objects. Plainly yours is a race of heathens.” He snapped. “To an Orc, there is no greater privilege than to be chosen by an Omega. Than to have their courting efforts be recognized and accepted. An omega is an equal; a partner to be treasured and protected. We have no separate terms for male Omega and the idea of locking one into a whore house is abhorrent! It may be in your best interest to seek an Alpha in the Horde. An Omega is universally valued, even a scrawny Human.”

Anduin tilted his head, blinking those empyrean eyes. “Are you flirting with me, Overlord?”

Garrosh huffed. “Would it bother you if I was? You lions don’t tend to like the Horde. You see my race as animals.”

“The war doesn’t help, not that if excuses it. For me, it’s who you are not what you are. It never has been.” He said with a sigh. “Not that it matters.”

“A life spent at war with instinct will never be happy, Little Lion.”

“My own happiness isn’t something I’ve the privilege of worrying about.” Anduin hadn’t bothered to put his gloves back on before reemerging from his tent and rubbed his bare fingers together in an effort to keep them warm. “My station doesn’t allow it.”

“And what station would that be?” it quickly became clear the Omega had no intention of answering that question. Growling again, Garrosh shifted slightly to one side on his rock. “Come over here. It’s warmer. Closer to the fire.”

Anduin didn’t move right away, appearing to measure his possible intentions against his own shivering and the energy it would take to move his own rock closer, but eventually he rose from where he sat and picked his way delicately around the crackling fire towards him. All long legs and glinting armor. Gracefully, he lowered himself onto the rock beside him continuing to idly rub his fingers together.

“Give me those, runt, or stick them in the fire. Doing that won’t fix anything.”

Another extended period of half-judgmental staring before he held out his hands. Small and thin like the rest of him with long nimble fingers. One of Garrosh’s hands was more than enough to enclose both of them; it would have been easy to shatter every one of his bones so he kept his grip gentle. Anduin still let out a soft hiss, reigning in the first instinct to flinch back.

“By the Light, your hands are hot!”

“No, brat, yours are just frozen.” He snorted. “Since you’re not going to answer my other question maybe you’ll answer this one. If not your Alpha, who was Fordragon to you?”

At the return of the topic the Omega beside him wilted like an unwatered plant. “A lot.” He said. “A mentor. A family friend. A father figure. Even before my father went missing he wasn’t all there, mentally. My mother’s death…it broke him for a while. And then he disappeared. I was left to fill his position at only ten and…if Bolvar hadn’t been there I don’t know what I would have done. He didn’t deserve what happened.”

“The traitorous scum will be dealt with. If you ask me, the whole of the Forsaken ought to be rooted out.” Garrosh said. The little Omega’s fingers were almost painfully cold against his calloused palm but holding them had drawn the blonde closer: an action he didn’t seem consciously aware of. He could smell him on the still air: light and sweet and heady, showing the first faint signs of ripening into heat though that was still days off. His inner Alpha purred, urging him to shift his grip to that thin upper arm, pull him to his side and bury his face in the crook of his neck in search of more of that scent. To lick and bite and claim. He pushed it away. “You’re not close with your father.”

“No, though we both wish that wasn’t true.” Anduin said. “I love him. He loves me. But…we don’t see eye to eye on most things.”

“What things?”

“I believe that peace between the Alliance and the Horde is possible. That Orcs and Humans, Night Elves and Tauren, Dwarves and Trolls aren’t as different as our pride likes to make us think.” Anduin said.

“And your father? Whoever he is?”

“He believes that the Horde are nothing more than occasionally useful savages to the last that will eat our women and sleep with our food the instant we show them the slightest quarter.” He sighed heavily. “We fight a lot.”

A complicated relationship, of sorts, with their respective sires? Another point, it seemed, on which they could relate. Garrosh didn’t like this growing pattern of similarity. “My father,” he said, “left to invade your world when I was still young. I have no memory of him. And for most of my life I lived with the burden of knowledge that my father had doomed our race to taint and decline by being the first to drink the corrupted blood of Mannoroth. When Thrall came I learned the truth that he’d died a hero. Saved us. Now, I’m proud to bare the Hellscream name. What of you?”

Confusion flitted across his features. “What of me?”

“Are you proud of your family name, Crusader?”

“Of course.” Anduin said. “For all his faults my father is a good man. A hero to my people who’s done much for the Alliance. I wish to be like him one day.”

“Then why aren’t you using your family name? Why are you so reluctant to answer questions which concern it?”

“Excuse me.” Anduin rose hastily, pulling his hands free and stepping away. “It’s late. I should be trying to get at least a few hours sleep before my shift at watch. Good night, Overlord.” With a swift nod the young Paladin turned and retreated back towards his tent.

The fire popped loudly, shooting a column of sparks into the star-studded sky.

His reactions near about confirmed Garrosh’s suspicions: the familiarity of his features and reluctance to divulge his family name made it clear that he was to son of someone high up in Stormwind’s military. A Taylor. A Wyrmbane. A Shaw, though he doubted the last one as he found it difficult to justify a Paladin, ‘pillar of virtue’, being related to a vicious assassin and expert at espionage.

Better that he didn’t know; that he didn’t invest the time attempting to unravel the mystery of whom Anduin really was because it would inevitably only lead him to become even more drawn to the fey Human he already had far too much to do with. That he kept himself apart from any temptation association with the all but doomed Omega was sure to bring about. That he kept his full attention on the job at hand, finish it as quickly as possible and wash his hands of the Argent Lion; allow himself to get free with his comfortable distaste for the Human race fully intact.

Ancestors knew that, unfortunately, doing so would be easier said than done.


	2. The Halls of Depravity

 

“I realized this morning,” Anduin said as he trotted up to him, dragging his dismantled tent-now little more than a seemingly tangled mess of hides and support beams-behind him like a sled, “that I didn’t properly thank you last night. Never found the time even with everything else that we went over, so allow me to rectify that now. Thank you, Overlord Hellscream, for saving my life in yesterday’s ambush.”

While Garrosh had resolved, at least in part, to try to pretend the Omega didn’t exist Anduin, clearly, had other ideas and didn’t seem content to leave him be anytime soon.

Reluctantly, golden eyes turned away from adjusting the straps of Zosha’s saddle. In the blinding snow glare Anduin’s eyes were a vivid cobalt color, alluring in spite of the exhaustion which pulled on his features and the shadows which had perched atop his cheeks like crows. “Allowing those spider bastards to rip you to pieces would only have led to a delay.” He grunted. “And allowing those Swarmers to carry you away to Icecrown would only have given the Lich King another soldier to throw back at us. It was a matter of preventing a future problem and had nothing to do with you.”

Anduin hummed, appearing in no way discouraged by the Alpha’s words. “Mmmh. It absolutely had nothing to do with me. You’d have reacted to the matter the same way if it had been anyone else from our party. Just as you’d have shared your rock beside the fire with any one and also would have gone through such effort to help them to warm up their fingers. Because,” his lips twitched upwards in amusement, “it had absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever. And certainly nothing to do with what I am.”

Garrosh growled, turning to face him. Towering head chest and shoulders above the smirking Human. “Nothing will come of this, runt. I’ve no interest in seeing your kind as anything other than fodder for my axe, and you’ve your own reasons.”

“Nothing will come of it.” Anduin agreed, still seeming more amused than the Orc thought he had any right to be. “So why not entertain the matter? Why run from it?”

Because ‘entertaining the matter’ increased the likelihood that something unwanted, to differing degrees, by both of them _would_ occur. Instinct wasn’t to be idly toyed with, his Alpha was reactive enough to the Human as it was and with how firmly and how long the blonde’s Omega had been restrained the Paladin would surely have difficulty controlling himself as well. Encouraging matters further would be playing with fire and would end all but certainly in disaster.

Still, Garrosh had never been well known for sense or self-control. It was a rare Warrior that was. And the temptation…if they were subtle enough, then no one would-No! That was a bad idea. Tempting imprinting, a subconscious bond between their inner selves, would only lead to deep trouble.

“It’s clear your race’s disrespect for what’s sacred extends beyond your Alphas.” Or maybe it was just the fact that Anduin had been raised as one. “We don’t have time for this, runt! Secure your things to your nag and leave me be or I’ll strangle you with Zosha’s reigns and leave your body for the condors!”

Anduin canted his head curiously and continued to observe him a moment further before doing as he was told and walking away; the wrapped-up tent leaving behind a narrow tamped down trail in the snow where he’d passed. Garrosh turned his head briefly to glare after him-at least, that was what he told himself that he was doing-before resuming his work with the saddle. He would not make a desperate choice, fueled by the fear of ending up alone: a bull for the rest of his life, condemned to spiral down into an uncontrollable haze of aggression or to settle for a beta to take off the edge. And he wouldn’t allow himself to be the desperate choice of someone else. Most certainly not an Alliance dog slated to eventually poison himself to death with suppressants, no matter how pretty he was for a Human.

Zosha chose that time to let out a low grumble and shake out her fur; the gear already lashed to her back loudly rattling around. Dismissing the straps on her saddle as being tight enough, Garrosh slung himself up onto the war worg’s back and took a firm hold of the reign’s, barking orders to form up to his men while taking pains to avoid so much as looking in the direction of the Crusaders. With a clamor of fists against breastplates and “Lok’tar Ogars” they were off once more across the ice.

For the most part, beyond the occasional instance when the navigator spoke up to alert them to a change in course, he had considerable success in pretending the Human didn’t exist.

His Alpha wasn’t pleased with the matter, not at all, but after being ignored for long enough it curled up in a mental corner like a sulking worg and left him be. They’d left their camp not long after sunrise and had spent the large part of the day plodding across the Dragonwastes, weaving in and out between deep chasms and shallow rises to avoid the path of the occasional skeletal Frostwyrm which circled overhead. Finally, at just past the peak of midday, they reached their destination: an outpost of the Crusade which was little more than a handful of Paladins, a mix of hippogriffs and wyverns, and a divot in the ice.

More Humans. Great. Hopefully they were just there to be used as Dragonbait because Garrosh doubted that his patience could handle having to deal with any more of them. After sticking a salute which appeared conspicuously aimed at Anduin and an exchange of gruff greetings the man-a tall red-haired Beta with a battered, wind burned face-addressed the matter of why they’d come out there to begin with, just short of the shadow of the Dread Necropolis which hung on the horizon to the north.

“Kel’thuzad learned from his close call in the Plaguelands; rather than keep his phylactery on him he’s given guardianship of it over to a Frostbrood named Ghostwing. We’ve tracked the beast down and narrowed its path of patrol to a couple of miles.” He said. “We should find it just to the West of the Necropolis; once we have the phylactery we can storm Naxxramas and get answers on the weak points of that accursed citadel.”

“No time to waste then, is there Human? Even this far north there’s only so much daylight.” Garrosh dismounted Zosha’s back and trudged through the snow towards the nearest Wyvern. Bypassing a white and brown plumed hippogriff and ignoring the look of resentful offense it threw his way in response. “Secure your mounts, the lot of you! There’ll be no dawdling under my command. We can’t allow the Alliance to beat us into that Necropolis!”

If the promise of a blood boiling battle soon to come hadn’t been enough to motivate them reminder that the Alliance-their cohorts of vague circumstance in the war against the Lich King and his Scourge, though Garrosh preferred to think of them as another enemy to be crushed wherever possible whom just so happened to be working towards the same goals and was stealing the glory which rightfully belonged to the Horde in the process-was and soon his men had left their worgs to wander the area, confident they’d return when called for and with nothing to tie them to on the barren wastes and chosen their wings for the mission at hand. The only Orcs astride hippogriffs were those who made up a part of the small group of Argent Crusaders who’d accompanied them on their trek over from the Borean Tundra. Anduin had, of course, selected the hybrid bird-thing which he’d initially walked passed and which still persisted in giving him dirty looks in between reveling in the sensation of the Omega’s thin fingers running through its feathers.

Thankfully they took off moments later which saved Garrosh the trouble of having the muster up the willpower to drag his jealous gaze away from the gloating freak of nature. Following the small handful of others who’d lifted off before it the wyvern beneath him coiled down and then launched itself skyward, parting from the ice in a surge of power which even almost two years on never ceased to amaze him. They’d had no flying mounts on Draenor, the Rylaks once used by his people to travel through the air long died out, and until the Horde had returned from Azeroth he never would have imagined such a creature as the one now beneath him could ferry an Orc through the air.

They climbed rapidly into the thin icy sky, battling a ferocious crosswind, before finally leveling out just above it. Veering just to the left of Naxxramas at an approach of 45 degrees. Soon, they caught sight of their quarry.

Ghostwing was a truly massive Frostwyrm, three times the size of even the largest of the beasts which they’d seen over the course of their trek. Horns of glacial ice curved down and outwards away from its fleshless skull. The tattered membranes of its sweeping wings were torn ragged and stained a vibrant arctic blue and frigid lichfire burned deep-set within the empty sockets of its skull; forming connecting joints and cables of pure necrotic magic between the ancient, petrified bones which were holding the monstrosity together.

Hearing the wingbeats of their mounts approaching the great Dragon banked and turned itself about to face them. Pausing in midair for a brief moment before letting out an earth-shattering roar and beginning to fly straight towards them.

One of the Crusaders barked a command which made no sense to Garrosh but clearly clicked with the Argents who broke from their positions within the shapeless conglomeration of weapons and wings that had been formed and assuming a new formation divided into a set of smaller groups. Plainly with the intent of making it more difficult for the Dragon to slaughter them.

Probably a wise choice, if what he’d heard about the beast’s breath weapon was true.

“Warsong offensive,” he snarled over the wailing wind as the Dragon bore down on them, “break rank!”

In a flurry of motion, red wings and flashing blades his men parted to the left and the right as the monster barreled through where they’d been just moments before, snapping its desiccated jaws around thin air; long bludgeoning tail wailing passed them with bone breaking force. Roaring again, it swooped around for another attack and belted out a blistering cone of rime which Garrosh only narrowly managed to avoid. One of the Argents plummeted from the sky, the mount beneath them frozen solid. As the wyvern he rode sailed up over the Forstwyrm’s right wing and banked around to its left Garrosh caught sight of what they’d come for: frozen to its back, wedged between the jutting spines of two ragged vertebrae was the phylactery.

“There! Just behind its neck!”

A Crusader and one of his Orcs both dove for the beast at his shout, catching sight of the phylactery as well, only to have the monstrosity spin around with shocking speed and crush them in its jagged jaws.

“Damn it all!” Berk snarled. “We’re na gonna get anywhere near that things cargo! Na from above!”

“Then we’ll have to come at it from another direction.” Anduin said, blue eyes narrowed and set on the dragon. Flicking from the anchored phylactery and the gaping ribcage beneath it and then to the monster’s skull. Before any of them could react to the intent which flashed across his features the little Omega astride the glaring hippogriff had soared around the Forstwyrm’s left and circled about to come at it from its front.

“ _Anduin_!” One of the Crusaders, he wasn’t sure which, shouted after him, voice laced with horror. Garrosh stared after him, stunned by the sheer stupid bravery of the Human and certain he was about to see him die as he rushed head on into the monster’s path. The Dragon opened its maw and spewed another column of flash frozen ice.

At the last possible moment before he was struck by the deadly blast Anduin dove beneath the attack. Leaping from the back of the hippogriff as it sailed through its open ribcage. Grabbing as firm a hold as he could around a rib bone which was almost too large for him to get a proper grip on. Dangling, precariously, thousands of feet in the air; a hair’s breadth away from a fatal fall.

Fingers white knuckled against even whiter bone, thin arms straining beneath the weight of his body and the skeletal Dragon’s attempts to locate where he’d suddenly vanished to, the young Omega swung himself upward and made a grab for one of the nearest jutting vertebrae. Missed. Nearly lost his grip and fell to his death. Tried again and succeeded, adjusting his grip and then hoisting himself up. Getting up onto all fours preciously balanced on the beast’s undulating back and beginning to skitter forwards, hand over fist, towards the phylactery like a monkey. Sitting down in the divot between two vertebrae and locking his ankles around the spinal column before pulling down Fear Breaker.

Before this Garrosh hadn’t considered anyone, especially not a Human-well, maybe Varian, and he sincerely hoped it killed him-was capable of being so recklessly brave. And yet there the Paladin was, slung across the massive rime spitting monstrosity as if it were a tame and well-tempered mount, ignorant of its efforts to throw him from his perch as he brought his mace down on the ice keeping the phylactery in place again and again until it finally came free.

Blue eyes scanned the area and alighted on the nearest Crusader before shouting “catch!” and throwing it with all that he was worth. The Blood Elf forced his mount into a dive and caught it. The Dragon roared as it spun around towards him, lich fire eyes flashing, but Anduin acted before the beast could; preforming a move which was even more reckless than the stunt which had landed him on top of the Frostwyrm to begin with.

He raised the hand which wasn’t holding the mace and, much like it had the day prior, Light hardened in his grip. Golden crystal forming into links which formed into heavy chains that shot outwards with a clattering rattle, winding around the Dragon’s wings and binding them to the creature’s sides. No wings meant no chance in hell of staying airborne and the monster seemed to know it too, judging by the howling wail it let out as it plummeted from out of the sky. At the last possible moment before the Dragon exploded into dark magic and bone shards Anduin leapt from its back and back into the saddle of the hippogriff he’d ridden out with them on.

The Argents were in uproar, more than a few converging on their comrade in order to berate him for putting himself in so much ‘unnecessary’ danger. Garrosh wasn’t certain it was really unnecessary as there was only other way they’d have come away with the Phylactery, and even then they’d still have had the Dragon on their tail rather than in a pile of twisted splinters on the open ice below. He caught snippets of the conversation, such as the expected “what were you thinking!” and “too damn like yer bloody father fer _any_ of our sanity!” but paid little more attention.

“Argue about how the runt should have behaved on your own time, Argents!” Garrosh barked, pulling his wyvern around towards where the Naxxramas hovered like a splotch of ash against the cloudy sky. “We’re not finished here!”

“He’s right.” Of course Anduin would agree; it was only natural to take the path which might let him squirm his way out of trouble. “I’ll take whatever talking to I must for rash action but I won’t apologize for what I did; more of us would have died for certain if I hadn’t and there’s no guarantee we’d have gotten the phylactery at all.”

“Explain that to your father!” Baate’s voice was stern, brow furrowed beneath her blue goat horns.

Rather than quail the young man laughed, mirth rocking him gently back in his saddle. “He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” He said. “He’d have waited to jump off that dragon until it hit the ground!”

A stunt which would all but certainly have killed a Human. Elements, it would have killed an _Orc_! What Anduin had done was describable only as stupid and flew in the face of all he knew that an Omega was meant to be: serene and placid, like water and earth; possessing power yet not using it unless all other choices had been lost. Running in was an Alpha’s place, a sharp gust of wind or a flare of fire, and it should have taken more than simply being raised as something that he wasn’t to allow him to go running headlong into danger that would have made even most Alpha’s bolt with their tails between their legs.

Maybe Anduin was simply broken. And what a cosmic joke that was: the only Omega willing to allow him to approach in any capacity was not only an Alliance dog but a defective one to boot. Even still, a sizable part of him wished he’d been a bit closer to the scene when the blonde had made his mad dive into the face of danger, if only for the sake of being afforded a better look.

“Watch out! Gargoyles!”

Garrosh’s vision had drifted yet again to the Human’s lissome frame, calm and well at home on the Hippogriff’s back, form supple beneath the plate he wore and holding a relaxed sort of poise. He ripped golden eyes away from him and set his gaze instead on the flock of ravening wings and fangs which were rapidly baring down on them. Pulling down his axe with one hand and firmly wrapping the reigns of his mount around the other.

“Knock those wretches out of the sky!” His shouted command was met with a resounding chorus just moments before the flock was upon them. The thunder of wing beats. Deafening shrieks. Flashing teeth and talons and the sharpened points of long whipping tails. The stone-like bodies of the screeching fiends were about the size of a small worg, their glowing green eyes beady and utterly pitiless above pig like noses. Fighting them astride a wyvern was far from ideal but he didn’t exactly have much choice.

Gorehowl hissed and snarled as it swung through the air, missing more than it struck, but the blade occasionally made contact with a shattering crunch as the wyvern beneath him dodged and weaved through the fluttering mass. Arrows and bolts of magic-Holy and Arcane and Elemental-whirled around them in a flurry. The glimpses he caught of the others were brief, not near long enough to make out who they were: flashes of silver spaulders, matte black spines or fluttering tabards: the grey and crimson of the Warsong Offensive and the soft silver blue of the Crusade.

And then, just as suddenly as the mass had appeared, they were through it and Naxxramas was rushing ever closer. A hulking mass of Saronite and condensed wrong, all harsh plains and exaggerated skull motifs. The openings beneath the construct small and radiating a miasma of plague and malice. One after another they barreled through the necropolis’ gaping maw, barely having enough time to dismount and move up a narrow ramp deeper into the halls of depravity which awaited them before the mount they’d been using took off out the other side to make room for another to take its place. Stranding them there.

It was succeed or die. Victory or death. Retreat was no recourse. For an Orc, things were as they should have been and Garrosh was looking greatly forwards to the battles which lay ahead: the greatest of the Lich King’s forces outside of Icecrown Citadel itself lay within the fetid halls above him. Including Kel’thuzad.

Upwards they rushed, sending the cat which had been idly wandering about and chasing maggots skittering away with a yowl of fright, crashing like a wave into the first quarter they came to. Spiders. Nerubians. A handful of cultists. They cut their way through everything they came across, constantly pursued by the occasional wail for aid which echoed through the weeping walls. Onwards. Quarter after Quarter. Ripping their way through Death Knights and floating weapons. Losing men to the ferocious coordination of the Four Horsemen. Carving through Necromancers who stank of Plague fumes and the horrific fungus beasts and eyestalk monsters which they found there.

The Construct Quarter well and truly reeked, the stench of chemicals and death burning his throat and eyes. Abominations lined the walls like waiting guards and charged. A wall of fetid flesh and jagged bone and rusted metal which they were forced to dull their weapons and tire their muscles against in order to get through. And on the other side? More maddened undead minions of Arthas and an even bigger Abomination which had declared itself an Avatar of War.

In the fight, somehow, Anduin had ended up beside him. In that moment the only word which the Overlord could think of to describe the Human was feral and it was truly a beautiful thing to behold. His eyes burned with Holy power, hazing blue irises with a thin leafing of brilliant gold. His teeth were bared, white and gleaming. His gilded hair escaping from its bindings to fall about his face, matted in places with the black blood of their opponents. The same black blood which stained his tabard and armor from head to toe. He could see the lion in him, then: The King of Beasts poised over a kill on the open Barrens.

Lithe and swift, he used his size to his advantage to hold the Abomination’s attention. Dancing dangerously just out of reach of its efforts to splatter him against the Necropolis’ walls the way it had done to several others in their party. Rotting, meaty hands reaching out but never quite managing to catch hold of him. Broad back and bare spine exposed to blows from Gorehowl’s blade time and time again, the other Crusaders and his remaining men closing in like pack hounds to rip at its legs until it came, finally, crashing down.

“The closer to the Arch Lich we come,” in contrast to his displayed ferocity, as Anduin lifted the phylactery from the grip of one of his fallen fellows he sounded exhausted, “the harder they get. Which, I suppose, is only to be expected.”

Garrosh grunted roughly in dismissal. “Getting tired, runt?”

“I think we all are.” He reached up with one hand to push the bangs back from his face, swiping a thick swatch of slime across one of his cheeks in the process. “And our numbers have already been halved. We still have Gluth and Thaddius to deal with, and then Sapphiron. Not to mention Kel’thuzad himself.” Oh, yes, _another_ Frostwyrm. He’d almost forgotten about the damned thing but at least it would be restricted from flying around this time. “Light willing, we’ll make it out of this.”

“We don’t need your Light, Human.” He grunted, shouldering-gently, by comparison, so as not to knock him flat-passed him and striking out down the hall. “We’ll do this ourselves, without prayers and fairy dust.”

Gluth, a slavering monstrosity of flesh and bone and metal. Thaddius, a construct of sewn together flesh and soul and the source of the ungodly screaming they’d been hearing echoing through the halls as they’d made their way steadily forward. Hard fights. Vicious fights but they came out on top by a rapidly narrowing margin.

Sapphiron was smaller than Ghostwing had been by a considerable margin, largely owing to the fact that the Dragon had to be made to fit inside a frozen over chamber, but proved no less deadly. This time around Anduin didn’t try to mount and bind the beast. The battle was difficult, made all the more so by the ice which left them slipping and stumbling around and brutal strikes of wings and tail which cut their forces down even further. By the time the beast had been thoroughly reduced to a mountain of bone shards they’d been cut to a minimum and left with no choice.

The way that Anduin was holding the phylactery, clenched to his chest, made it plain that the Omega was afraid but he kept his face carefully contained. The pungent curl of his fear was like crude oil: offensive, especially when compared to the soft sweetness of his natural scent, as it pervaded the air. It made his Alpha agitated. Hell, it made Garrosh agitated too. He tightened his grip on his axe.

“We’re sitting ducks if we stay here.” Baate said, tail holding a fearful curl around her large hooves. “Our only choice is to continue and face Kel’thuzad. We have his phylactery. We can force him to surrender.”

Anduin nodded, though he still appeared troubled. “You’re right, Baate, of course.” He looked towards the frosted maw of the passage leading to where Kel’thuzad waited. “We’ve cornered the Lich in his hole. We push forwards.” Under his breath, Garrosh could have sworn he heard him mutter “Light help me.”

Their footsteps echoed off the claustrophobic walls of the dark and narrow hallway, urgency in their motions and tension in their gaits. The doorway into the room at the end was crowned with the spiked tips of a barred gate. The room on the other side was cavernous and frigid, swirling portals set into alcoves on the walls and high ceiling hung with thick icicles. The Arch Lich, right hand of the Lich King, was standing in front of his throne-a bulky massive piece held aloft by a serpent skeletons-with the Birman they’d seen earlier curled contentedly in his arms.

“Orcs. Crusaders. Brutes, all of you; all the same. Rabid animals unable to comprehend the Master’s plan.” The Lich’s voice was cold and stringent, chilling as the air around them. “You’ve cut your way through my Necropolis, just as that merry band of pinhead ‘heroes’ did in the Plaguelands. You’ve found your way to the true chill of death. I hope you’re proud of what you’ve managed to achieve here because it will amount to nothing.”

“We’ve your phylactery, monster!” Baate snarled. “We’ve won! Now tell us what we want to know!”

Kel’thuzad burst into a fit of rollicking laughter before flinging a bolt of frost in Anduin’s direction. It struck the phylactery, so cold that the thick glass froze instantly solid, and it burst into shards. Alarmed and wide eyed the Paladin stumbled back. “That ‘phylactery’ is a fake. A trap specifically laid to lure in the hapless fools insistent on resisting.” He said. “I’d hoped to draw in Fordring himself. Mograine perhaps. Though I suppose receiving the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive wasn’t a terrible result. All of you will join the Scourge tonight.”

They’d hoped the avoid having to do unfettered battle with the Arch Lich, especially with their numbers as low as there’s had fallen. Without the phylactery to use as leverage they were put at a decided disadvantage and needed a plan but Anduin didn’t even have the chance to reach for strategy before Garrosh barreled forward with a roar and half the room behind him. Half-snarling something stuck midway between a curse and a desperate prayer the blonde seized Fearbreaker and rushed after the rest, aware being left behind would make him an easy target to pick off at range.

“Minions, servants, soldiers of the cold dark! Hear the call of Kel’thuzad. Deal with these intruders!”

And now the reason or the presence of the portals became clear: undead began to flood through them and into the room. Brittle skeletons, at first, followed by abominations and red eyed Banshee’s, their faces twisted into rictuses of torment and bodies comprised of dark smoke. First a small handful and then a small army, all rushing towards them at once and leaving the Lich to simply stand their and cackle at them.

Baate and Rahaen were battling at once with a Banshee and a rotting Geist. To his right, an Orc from Warsong Hold was weathering blows from an enraged abomination. A skeleton flung itself at him, bony fingers tearing along his jawline and coming just short of drawing blood. Anduin hurriedly darted free of its grip and swung his mace, the heavy metal head breaking through the empty ribcage and causing his attacker to snap in half like a twig. Not finished, the thing attempted to grab at his ankles and yank him over forcing him to bring his foot down and shatter its skull beneath his boot.

They cut their way through every shambling, decaying beast the Arch Lich threw at them until finally they stopped coming. Beaten down bloody and nearly exhausted they were immediately faced with a punishing volley of unholy magic. Kel’thuzad using his towering height and thin frame to his advantage, striking at them from above with skeletal talons and whipping chains and easily dodging around their retaliatory strikes.

For an amalgamation of bones, cloth and chains Kel’thuzad was fast and Anduin wasn’t able to dodge the strike when a boney hand shot out and seized him. As it closed around his throat and lifted him off his feet, cutting off his air and rendering him unable to call the Light for aid, he let out an instinctual squeak of terror that was pure Omega and pulled the Lich up short.

“Oh? How interesting.” Kel’thuzad said. “It seems that I’ll be keeping one of you alive, at least. The Master will be more than pleased to at last have a means towards a new breed of Death Knight.” Anduin squirmed wildly, only to have the grip tighten to the point where his vision threatened to go black. Frost had frozen the feet of the other members of his party to the floor. Garrosh snarled, throwing his weight to one side and then the other but though the ice cracked it didn’t break. “You’ll be the jewel of Icecrown and I’m sure your father will be thrilled to have his old friend in the family.”

With a last great heave, the frozen shackles broke and Garrosh flung himself at the Arch Lich, Gorehowl’s blade biting deep into his exposed side. Bone and withered flesh snapped. Black ichor spurted from the wound and Kel’thuzad let out a splitting shriek, flinging his captive across the chamber and rounding on him as the others broke free as well and raised their weapons. All closing in at once.

The Undead tended to have a lack of fear, so he’d learned from encounters with their fetid kind so far, and the Overlord expected the abomination would either continue to fight them through its injuries-less hindered by open flesh and pulverized bones than the living would be, given that he no longer felt pain-or to flee back to Icecrown with his tail between his legs-Mages were known for teleporting to safety the instant things got rough-but he certainly hadn’t expected the bastard to blow himself up out of spite.

This entire mission, from the very start, had been fraught with things he hadn’t expected. Frankly, Garrosh wasn’t certain how he could muster up the energy to be surprised anymore.

“If I must fail I will take you all down with me! With the Master’s will I shall return in time but you will not!”

A wave of icy power-a dark and deadly blue-surged towards them. Roaring up like a tidal wave as it closed in, reeking of frost and certain death. A clang of plate on plate as something collided with his side, the impact barely noticeable, and blinding light blotted out his vision moments before the force of the Arcane attack lifted him off his feet. Flinging him viciously backwards against the far wall.

When Garrosh next came aware he was lying on his back on the flagstone floor; all he could see were a glowing golden shell-latticed through with cracks but holding-and a set of immediately recognizable wide blue eyes blinking down at him from where the Omega lay curled up atop his chest. His inner Alpha was quite pleased with their position. Garrosh, however, was not. His kneejerk reaction, which he barely contained, was to fling the Human off him like a bothersome insect. It came as only small consolation that the little blonde vixen looked as confused as he felt, though that didn’t really bode well.

It meant that his Omega was equally stirred, and under conditions like these imprinting was a clear and present danger. And double-sided bonds were always harder to resist. It’d end up just like that stupid Azerothian drama; the one which had originated with Humans before the Blood Elves had aped it and that Thrall had dragged him to once months ago before the war with the Scourge had broken out: Rommulo and Jullianne. Except this time, it would be his Alpha and Anduin’s Omega trying desperately to get together and their respective images which would be committing suicide.

Resisting would, ultimately, only be delaying the inevitable then as no matter how strong his will was he’d never be able to resist himself. It was already bad enough he now owed the whelp his life!

“Get off me, brat!” Anduin toppled off with an undignified squeak when Garrosh pushed him. His Alpha wasn’t pleased with such rough treatment but its grumble went ignored. “What did you do?”

“Divine Shield.” He chirped, getting to his knees and reaching up a hand to massage his tender throat. Red, now, and sure to bloom with bruises where he’d been so harshly grabbed. “Powerful protective magic, related to a Priest’s Power Word: Shield; difficult for even most veteran Paladin’s to achieve. I’ve always had an affinity for it.” He looked away, passed the glittering golden shards fallen around them from the barrier to the remnants of dark magic clinging to the stones and the bodies and bone shards littered all around them, with sorrow etched into his features. “I wish…shielding you along with me was all I could do.”

“A soldier knows the likelihood of death when they take up a mantle and a weapon.” He grunted, clambering upright. “Such is the death of a true Orc, in battle against a strong foe.  Though this one, admittedly, used cheap tricks. Now let’s get out of here, runt. The stink of this place is making me ill.”

“Not yet.” Anduin rummaged in the small bag at his belt before pulling out a bottle of some sort of liquid. “We can’t just leave them here. Not without making sure they can’t be raised.”

“And you intend to thwart Arthas with a glass bottle?” he demanded. “What is that, anyway?”

“Holy water.” Anduin’s movements were stiff with pain as he crouched beside the first of their fallen fellows. The cork came free with a sharp pop. “It was blessed by a Naaru. The Prophet Velen gave it to me before I left Stormwind for my service with the Crusade. A few drops should be enough.”

A few drops of what amounted to dust and water was capable of keeping the Lich King at bay? A pity that kind of power couldn’t be weaponized against the Alliance. “What connection do you have to the leader of the blue goat men?”

Blue eyes blinked up at him in what almost amounted to offense as he dripped the blessed water onto the first in the line of the fallen. “Velen is another of my mentors. I trained under him at the Exodar not long ago.” A quiet scuffing sound as he moved on to the next body. “Father…he wasn’t pleased. Wanted me to take my studies in Stormwind, under the Archbishop.”

“I assume he tried to stop you?” Why was he even engaging with the subject? Perhaps it was a relief valve for mounting tension; every moment spent on that Necropolis was a moment where reinforcements could show up and even he wasn’t fool enough to think they stood a chance in another fight so soon. His grip tightened spasmodically on Gorehowl’s hilt.

“He almost broke my arm.” There was a dry mirthlessness to his voice when he spoke, gaze breaking away. His Alpha bristled at the mention of the Omega being mishandled and Garrosh only barely bit back a growl. “Not that it was purposeful. He was…why am I even telling you this?”

“Your father mistreats you and yet you still care for him?”

“He doesn’t mistreat me! He just doesn’t always realize what he’s doing. Doesn’t always know his strength.” Anduin sounded suddenly snappish. Defensive. “Like most Alphas.” The stopper clinked as it was returned to its place atop the bottle’s neck.

“Any Alpha worth calling themselves such would reserve their aggression for _other_ _Alphas_ , they wouldn’t take it out on an Omega.”

“Yes, you did mention that. Protected and cherished rather than bred and abused.” Returning the vial to his pack, Anduin got back to his feet. “If that’s really true, maybe I’d have been better off an Orc.”

“You’d be better off an Orc no matter what dynamic you turned out to be, because soon enough the Horde will see to it that your race is nothing but a memory.” Though at this point he might have to simply shove Anduin into some sort of zoo, as Garrosh doubted killing the whelp would come easily to him.

Why did everything Thrall suggested always turn out to be needlessly, inexplicably complicated entirely out of the blue?

“Stormwind has weathered such storms before, and rebuilt better.” Anduin said, sabatons tap-tap-tapping against the stone floor of the necropolis as he walked up to him, simultaneously radiating half-playful smugness and a jittery nerve that a flood of Scourge would come sweeping down the only hallway out of there. “I’ve confidence in my father and our military. And the Alliance stands as one. Should any one of us be attacked the others will run to their aid without hesitation.”

“You think things different for the Horde?”

“Different? Not terribly. But would they know to come without being asked?” The blonde canted his head, blue eyes glinting in the gloom. “I’ve heard much of Orcish pride.”

“Let your Alliance come, Little Lion. We’d need no help to use your bones to decorate Orgrimmar.”

“If I might choose which portion I’d festoon, I’d much prefer the gates. And as for the rest of your design planning, perhaps it’s best you save it for later Overlord. We should really be getting out of here.” He lightly stepped around him, then, and started down the hall. Huffing, Garrosh followed.

The occasional flicker of their shadows against the weeping walls only served to heighten their nerves to hair trigger, and more than once both Warrior and Paladin found their hands twitching towards the solid hilts of their weapons. Anduin’s gilt hair almost seemed to glow in the dark, even beneath the layer of filth which had formed over it. It was almost unbelievable that they made it back down into the entry dock of the hovering fortress, the relief nearly strong enough to knock both flat.

Icy wind whipped passed them, curling harsh around their bodies as they edged cautiously towards the precipice. Anduin forced a shrill whistle passed white teeth, the sharp sound calling his hippogriff back to him with ease.

“Well,” he said, threading those nimble fingers through the feathers on his mount’s neck, “I suppose this is where we part ways, Overlord.”

Ancestors, if only things could be that easy. If he could wash his hands of the Omega before any more damage could be done to the prospects of his future’s path; let him fly off to where ever on Azeroth he planned to go and be eaten by a Dragon.

Damn his ill credited appreciation for beauty and the fact that the brat had saved his life.

“It’s where we part ways if you have a death wish.” He grunted, checking over the security of the straps binding his wyvern’s saddle to its back. “Given how you’ve acted I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Anduin asked. “Dalaran’s probably the safest place on this continent, and my father is expecting me.”

“And how do you expect to get there? Flying? You’d be swallowed by one of those damned Frostwyrms before you made it halfway there. Riding that horse of yours, down there? Alone? You’d be eaten by something else.” Garrosh said. “The only way either of us will make it out of the Dragonblight is together. You can use the neutrality of your position to take a portal to your Mage City from Warsong Hold.” He turned in time to see the blonde stiffen. “What?”

“Nothing.” Anduin said, relaxing his shoulders with obvious effort. “It’s simply…I’d rather avoid being recognized just a little longer. My father, he rages about you so often and it’s interesting to get to see for myself what you’re really like. Not to mention that it’s nice to be just Anduin for once. Instead of…” He shook his head. “It’s inevitable you’ll find out who I really am but I’d rather draw it out. I’ve never gotten to be around an Alpha who knew and wasn’t directly related to me after all. The Crossroads, midway between Warsong Hold and Valiance Keep, is where I’ll leave you.”

The Crossroads may only have been a few miles distance from the footholds of both the Alliance and the Horde but a few miles was still plenty of distance for him to get eaten by a…hole, or something. Damn it all, why did he care? “Don’t act as if your presence is some sort of privilege, runt. The only reason I’m not letting you go running off is that you saved my life when that Lich blew himself to hell.”

“Careful, Overlord,” Anduin’s lips for a brief moment twitched up into a smirk, “someone might mistake you for ungrateful.”

“I’d rather have been blown up.” Being dead would certainly have made this whole ‘babysit the Omega’ business easier. Bracing his foot in one of the stirrups Garrosh swung himself up onto his mount. “Now get on that freakish hybrid of yours before I reconsider and leave you here to rot!”

Whatever comment he might have had to that point were kept quiet and the young Paladin clambered up into the saddle, nudging his mount into motion. The hippogriff took a graceful leap into the frigid air and swooped away. The wyvern Garrosh was astride seemed to share his opinion on its showy nature, huffing sharply before padding over to the precipice and leaping off itself.

All signs of the gargoyles which had attacked them were gone and the Wyvern caught up to the Hippogriff with ease. Anduin sparred him a brief glance but said nothing. The wind scored ice rushed by beneath them, mile after mile until the place they’d left their mounts came into view.

Only to find their supplies had been ransacked, busted sleds and wooden boxes strewn across the snow.

Anduin hissed out a curse which was taken by the wind. “Snowbolds!”

Even together the prospect of getting back to the Borean Tundra, let alone to safety, had just gotten a whole lot harder.


	3. A Step on the Edge

With how bare the ice was for miles around there was nothing in the immediate vicinity which he could smash to unleash his pent-up frustration and screaming would only attract something neither of them had the energy left to fight so Garrosh settled for huffing curls of steam into the frosty air and glaring at Anduin. The Omega, for his part, ignored the burning gaze steadily boring holes into his armor and kept busy rooting through the scraps of wreckage left behind by the damned rat men.

“All the foods been taken.” He reported, all but having to yell over the wind. “And the water as well; taken or spilled. We’ll have to hunt and boil snow until we get back to the Borea.” But that would require a fire, as would any hope of keeping warm, and for that they’d need wood. Luckily, though the forests they’d left behind at the beginning of their journey was still miles off the busted supply crates had left them plenty of that. Broken boards littered the surrounding area and it wasn’t long before his arms were full.

“Any good news, Human?” Garrosh spat, watching him tie the bits of wood together into a bale and then truss it to his horse.

“They left us a tent.” Anduin chirped, gathering up a bit more wood just for good measure.

Shelter. At least that was something. “Tents?”

“No. Tent. Singular. As in one.” Trotting back across the hardened snow, the white crust crunching beneath his plated boots, he tied the second bundle of wood to the first one before turning towards him. “All of the others are in torn strips of fabric and won’t be much help keeping the wind at bay. It looks like we’ll have to share.”

Share? A single tent? With the Omega he was trying to keep at arm’s length _not_ within arm’s reach? “You stay on your side of the tent, runt, or I’ll throw you out into the cold.” In practice it would likely turn out to be an empty threat, he’d more likely end up pulling the Omega closer and not letting him go rather then booting him out into the snow, though it was only the execution of the threat that mattered and Anduin seemed to believe him readily enough.

“Of course.” Though they both knew it would be difficult to manage sticking to their respective ‘sides’ while attempting to cram a near to eight-foot mountain of Orc and a Human into the same small tent. Anduin lifted one arm out to his side, no doubt meant to indicate where the balled-up tent was lying in the snow. “Help me?”

“Can’t lift a tent, Anduin?”

Blue eyes slid sideways to the load already attached to his mount. “I have the firewood, Overlord. Reverence can’t carry anymore and still have me ride him.”

Grunting, Garrosh plodded over to the tent and hefted it over one shoulder before returning to where he’d left Zosha standing and attached it to the back of her saddle via the same method Anduin had used. “Still have that map, runt?”

The young paladin nodded, turning slightly and rummaging through the pack on his hip for a moment before pulling out the map and unfolding it. “Right here, Overlord.” He said, then looked up into the sky. The thick cloud cover made it difficult to tell but he’d have hazarded a guess that the sun was about halfway between its highest point and the horizon. “Even if we leave now we won’t make it to Wyrmrest Temple so we’ll definitely be using that tent.” Probably for the best. Garrosh didn’t have any particular thoughts on Dragons of any Flight but that didn’t mean he was particularly eager to share their company even if the Temple would have proved a source of both proper shelter and food and water. “Either way, we should probably get going. We don’t want to get caught beneath Naxxramas in the dark.”

Another grunt. The buckles on Zosha’s saddle clinked as Garrosh pulled himself up onto the warworg’s back. “Keep up, Human; we ride beside each other or it’ll be easy for something to pick us off.”

Anduin nodded, wound the leather reigns of his white horse around one hand, and nudged the beast forward. Together, exhausted and already chilled through to the bone, they started westward off across the ice at a trot as the light slowly faded from the grey sky.

This time, they stopped on a plate of ice protected by windbreaks formed from the skeletons of two massive Dragons. Garrosh pulled the tent back down off Zosha’s back and tossed it to the frozen ground, canting his head in confusion when the bundled wood and fabric made a metallic clattering sound. Unrolling it revealed a beaten metal bowl and matching mugs.

“We needed some way to melt the snow over the fire without putting the fire out.” Anduin said without looking over his shoulder, the clang of the tin enough to alert him to Garrosh’s discovery. “I have some King’sblood in my bag that we can make tea out of. It’s normally used for sunrash and snowblindness but it’s a diet aid as well.”

“A diet aid?” the Orc snorted. “What use is that out here?”

“It’s an appetite suppressant. Will help take the edge off having nothing to eat tonight but snow unless we want to kill our mounts.” Untying the smaller pack of wood pieces Anduin pulled it down from his horse’s back. “I don’t know about you, Overlord, but I’d rather not draw this out by having to walk back to the Borean Tundra and I doubt you want to have to deal with me going into heat.”

So he had been right about the meaning of the subtle sweetening of his scent. And no, having the unbound Omega going into heat within ten miles of him wasn’t something he wanted to have to deal with at all. “I thought you took suppressants.”

“I do. But if I take them for too long at a stretch I’ll drop dead from poisoning.” The fact he’d still die young, more than likely, from toing the line of abuse went unsaid. “I have to detox with a natural heat every six months: have two a year instead of twelve.” Though the wracking power of what heats he did have certainly made up for lost time, reducing those two weeks of every year to agony. “If you can set up the tent I’ll start the fire and get the tea going.”

Apparently taking the Overlord’s grunt as agreement Anduin untied the pieces of wood and set them up in a workable configuration. Balancing them painstakingly against each other so that they wouldn’t collapse and then drew a flint and iron from his pack. Striking it a handful of times before finally managing to get one of the glowing orange sparks to catch against the perhaps slightly damp wood. Once he’d succeeded in stoking the fire into a passable blaze, the color of which he couldn’t help but think was quite reminiscent of the eyes of the Orc he’d been stranded with, he snagged the bowl which Garrosh had dumped onto the ground. Anduin didn’t go far, filling the bowl with as much snow as he could manage to fit into it and then trotting back towards the fire, settling it atop the crackling flames.

Garrosh had succeeded in setting up the tent by then and had claimed a spot beside the fire. He watched Anduin lazily as he minded the pot until the snow melted to water and the water heated to a warming boil. Reaching once again into his bag he drew out a handful of King’sblood, the dried flowers a faint lavender color and strongly herbal smelling, and dropped a few of the buds into the water. Allowing them to stew for a while before dipping both mugs in and passing one across the fire.

Garrosh took a drink and almost spat it out immediately. “By the ancestors, this tastes like Elekk shit!”

Anduin smirked around the rim of his own mug, the herbal taste stinging his tongue and throat and warming his belly as it went down. “Yeah, it’s not the best thing in the world I’ll admit. But it’s warm and it’ll make the ache a little less hollow.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Garrosh drank again and grimaced but kept it down.

The first impression of dark shadows had begun to form beneath the Omega’s blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said, pulling his knees up close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. The mug he held beginning to tilt, threatening to spill its contents out onto the frozen ground. An ache, deep in his bones, for something he almost certainly would never have was all too familiar to him: a false Alpha forced to hide from even his own people. “I am.”

Blood and Scourge gore had dried into a foul crust over his skin and armor and, with his sense of smell heightened with nearing heat, his own stench was near enough to make him gag. He desperately wanted to melt another pot of snow and wash up a bit but knew better; that would have been inviting frostbite in.

He’d have to wait until they got back.

“Why?”

Anduin looked up at him again. “Why what?”

“Why did you decide to join the Argent fools when you could have stayed safe and no doubt warm in the Alliance? Important as your ‘station’ seems to be you could surely have avoided all of this.”

“Everyone needs to know how to handle themselves in battle no mater how ‘important’ they may be. And though my father admittedly had reservations he relented, considering the Scourge is, perhaps short of the Old Gods and the Burning Legion, the only enemy I wouldn’t attempt to talk in circles until it conceded the flaws in its own beliefs and agreed with me that the pursuit of peace is the better choice.”

A preference for diplomacy rather than battle. That Omegan trait, at least, was still in him. “Let me guess,” he grunted, “you joined because the ‘Light’ called you.”

Wouldn’t that be stereotypical. All of the Light’s followers were raving, delusional if admittedly rarely dangerous zealots and being around them never failed to make him vaguely nervous.

“I was called by the Light to be a Priest. To heal and speak for peace. I pushed myself to become a Paladin so that I’d be able to join the Crusade. So that I could at least see some of what lay beyond Stormwind before my inheritance shackled me there.” He took another drink from his cup. “I’ve always wanted to see the world but always knew I never would.”

So he felt trapped and had grabbed at the first straw presented which might possibly have freed him. Yet another similarity.

“What’s it like, where you came from?” he asked. “I’ve heard a lot about Outland.”

“Draenor.” Half a snap. “Not ’Outland’. ‘Outland’ is what Azerothians call what’s left of my planet.”

Blue eyes blinked at him from across the fire. “I’ve heard a lot about Draenor.”

Garrosh huffed. “Broken because of magic and tainted because of Demons. Nagrand is the only place where we can maintain any of our old ways and even that swatch of land is dying. In another handful of generations, the Mag’har will have no choice but to join the New Horde on Azeroth or die with our world.” Golden eyes fixed on him. “By that time, if I have my way, your kind will be extinct.”

“Or we could focus our energy into working together, or at least learning to ignore each other.” Garrosh’s response was a dismissive snort. Smirking, finishing off the last of his herb tea and getting to his feet, Anduin trotted over to his side of the fire and sat down beside him. Blue eyes swiveling up towards him before the Omega chirped a half-playful “did you die?”

The Overlord used his foot to push the Crusader away from him across the ice; Anduin only slid a few inches before toppling over onto his side in a tangle of limbs and armor, grinning like a fool.

“Stay away from me, brat, or next time I push you into the fire.”

Grinning, still, the Human pushed himself up onto all fours and scooted back to the other side of the fire. Refilling his mug and silencing himself with the effort of drinking it, much to Garrosh’s relief.

‘Working together’ with the Alliance would certainly make it easier for him to have the little Omega as his own, which was precisely why he needed to avoid it at all costs as anything otherwise would only be encouraging the behavior. It was already far too easily which he could invasion taking the gilded brat back to Garadar; the weight of him against his front as he sat before him atop Zosha; the flicker of torch light against the bare skin of his chest, faintly reddened around the edge of the fresh tattoos which swirled across it.

Anduin started when the Orc across from him suddenly stood up and headed for the tent, grumbling something vague and gravely over his shoulder. The young Paladin blinked after him, confused, and continued to sit beside the fire for a while before heading into the tent as well.

Garrosh had struck him as large for an Alpha, and even for an Orc, since he’d first laid eyes on him but just how large he was hadn’t fully struck home until he saw him splayed out inside the tent. _Not much space._ Anduin thought, closing the flap of the tent behind him before beginning to pick his way over to the corner which was about all that was left for him. _Not much space at all._ Though maybe that was for the best. Having left his armor piled neatly beside the Overlord’s outside, Anduin was dressed only in the thin leather’s underneath; he’d need to curl up into a small ball anyway in order to keep warm.

He wasn’t certain if Garrosh was asleep or not but supposed it didn’t really matter. Curling up into the tightest ball that he could while still being somewhat comfortable, Anduin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Outside, the wind howled. Anduin shivered, breath rising in silver puffs as he struggled to keep his teeth from chattering.

A large hand grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt, and, heedless of his squeak of surprise, it dragged him backwards. He soon ended up draped across Garrosh’s chest, golden eyes glaring up at him. “Stop your chattering, runt, or neither of us will be getting much sleep.” He growled. “Speak a word of this to anyone…”

He didn’t need to finish that threat. Anduin nodded and laid his head down on the big chest beneath him. Closing his eyes. He was warm, running hotter than any Human, and smelled of leather and steel polish and sharp Alpha musk. His Omega, so long restrained, whined and attempted to push against his conscience but Anduin swiftly shut it down. Focusing on the pattern of his breathing. On the heart beat beneath him.

Eventually, he dropped off.

The Human was sweet faced in sleep, golden hair let down to spill across the thin leather which was now all that separated them; silky rather than coarse like an Orc’s would be and curling slightly at the tips. His lips were pink and slightly parted, bruised eyelids almost see through as they fluttered over blue eyes. The brief thought of what it might be like to not have that barrier present, to be pressed skin to soft cold skin, was almost enough to make him push the sleeping Human off him but then he’d start chattering again and that would keep them both up so he bore it until he could get to sleep as well.

Garrosh awoke to find himself alone in the tent, sunlight streaming in through the fabric overhead and the smell of woodsmoke on the air. He found Anduin coiled up beside a renewed fire, another mug of foul tea clutched in his hands. The Human mumbled something that might have been ‘good morning’ but was swallowed by a titanic yawn as he held out the other mug. Garrosh didn’t acknowledge the greeting and took the mug, sitting on the opposite side of the flames. The swill still tasted the same. Garrosh couldn’t help but notice what Anduin was drinking was darker in color and still had dried flowers floating in it.

In the last few days before their heat an Omega could be known to consume near about their bodyweight in food and drink in preparation for a sustained period void of intake. Needing more of that awful plant to keep the pain of lack of food at bay was only to be expected and gave him a good idea of exactly how much time he had left to get rid of the Human before all holy hormonal hell broke loose.

They’d be cutting it close, but should make it to the Crossroads with just under half a day to spare.

“If we travel without stopping we’ll reach Taunka’le Village before nightfall. We’ll find food there, and I doubt the Taunka will have seen you before so your supposed fear of being recognized is of no concern.” He finished the last of the contents of his mug and threw it into the snow. “Put out that fire and put those things away. We leave as soon as I have this tent down.”

Still appearing somewhat out of sorts, though whether that was due to the influx of hormones or having only recently woken up Garrosh couldn’t tell, the young Omega drained his own mug and commenced the process of slowly shuffling about putting out the flames. Remaining where he was only long enough to ensure that the Human was doing as he’d asked, Garrosh got to his feet as well and tromped back towards the tent.

Taking the tent down was far easier and far quicker than putting it up had been, largely owing to the fact that all he had to do this time around was rip it out of the ground rather than having to bother with the pesky process of unraveling fabric and discerning which stake was meant to go where.

Had it not been for the possibility they’d need it again the next night, on the off chance they didn’t make it quite as far as Taunka’le, he’d have simply left it there. As it was he didn’t have the luxury and after tying it into an admittedly less than neat bundle attached it to Zosha’s saddle.

Anduin had pulled himself up onto his own mount’s back by now, the reigns once more wrapped around his wrist and his posture hunched forwards. Bleary blue eyes blinked quietly at him over the horse’s neck. Garrosh grunted in dismissal and turned away, prodding Zosha forward with the tap of a heel.

The whistling of the wind and the crunching of snow beneath the pass of hooves and paws dominated the sounds between them, occasionally interrupted by the soft clattering of Anduin rummaging through the satchel on his belt for more of the herb he’d used to stew the atrocious tea. This time shoving the dried buds into his mouth and chewing them briefly before tucking them into the hollow of his cheek.

They didn’t seem to help him much and it was clear that the hunger, as well as the discomfort which came with it, was mounting. Especially in the way that the little Omega eyed up the stag they caught brief sight of while passing through the naked forest not far outside of Moa’ki.

The bridges over the ice capped water were still of dubious trustworthiness and the Borea River itself was still as frigidly dangerous as it had been when he’d first come this way with the company from Warsong Hold. The dried wooden planks and fraying fibrous ropes which held them shook much less violently now that there were only two of them rather than a full, well armored platoon. Even still it was precarious going but that fact didn’t seem to register more than vaguely on the little Omega whom was now draped over the neck of his mount like a washed-up feline, soft whines of pain occasionally slipping through his efforts to control them.

He’d heard about what suppressants did. Nausea. Strange dreams. Infertility and even death if abused. Muscle cramps and migraines during detox followed by a heat so intense it was physically painful if weathered alone. It seemed that things were starting to catch up with the little blonde. Were it not for the shrill breathy whimpers which set his Alpha on needles he’d have paid the Human no mind, and even then it was only to prevent him from having something else to whine in pain about that he kept his eye on him in order to assure he didn’t topple from his saddle.

It was no longer midday but not quite evening either by the time they reached the village, well into the midst of preparing to evacuate south towards the partial safety of the sturdy walls of Warsong Hold. Made up of the expected towering totems and sturdy buildings of wood and bone, hemmed in on all sides by a wall of posts and thick hides, it was set beside the harsh white shin of the bank of the sulfurous hot springs proximity to which led the area to being almost pleasantly warm. Thicker set and not quite as tall as their Tauren kin, the Taunka had half a head on Garrosh none the less and were covered over in a coating of thick white fur. His presence alone would have been enough to elicit curiosity from most still present in the village. The fact that he was accompanied by a Human, even one wearing the colors of the neutral Argent Crusade, ensured it.

Anduin seemed to have noticed that they’d reached their destination as, though he hadn’t raised his head, there could still be found the occasional glint of curious blue eyes taking in his surroundings as much as his positions could allow.

He led them to the inn, saying nothing to the Crusader or the on-looking Taunka, tying Zosha at one of the posts outside. Watching the plainly uncomfortable Paladin struggle briefly to do the same with his horse.

“Watch the stairs, runt.” Said a bit too late, as a moment later he heard the telltale thud of a platted shin contacting wood.

With the village in the process of evacuation it wasn’t difficult to procure separate rooms and Garrosh waited only long enough to make sure the Human had half crawled through the doorway of his room before entering his own and discarding what little gear he could afford to on the ground for gathering later and loosening the straps of his armor. Dropping down onto the low-slung bed. Removing his gloves, then his boots, then his spaulders and finally his breast plate.

A knock came on the door before he could finish peeling off the remainder of his armor; of half a mind to ignore it on the off chance it could have been the Crusader he pulled himself back onto his feet with a growl and padded across the room to open it. Not Anduin, but rather the Taunka woman from earlier holding a sizable basket in her arms. Food, she was quick to explain under his piercing glare, for him and his companion. Taken from some of the supplies that had been amassed for the evacuation: nuts and berries and prime cuts of shovel tusk meat, including the heart.

“Is there anything else that I can do for you, Overlord.”

He should have demanded that the Taunka take the remaining food to the Human after he’d chosen what he wanted, especially considering the fact that an Alpha bringing food to an unrelated Omega that wasn’t bound to them especially during the gluttonous stage prior their heat screamed of presumption and that was a hive of hornets he wanted no part of, but it was too late. She’d already walked off and at this point going after her was far too much work.

He could have left it outside of the door of the room for when Anduin inevitably stumbled out in search of something to ease his hungry, but if he did that there was a very high chance that the Omega would simply chew through his remaining supply of King’sblood and then eat the leather of his pack. Growling, Garrosh picked up the basket and headed down the hallway. Opening the door of the room Anduin had gone into without knocking.

The furs had been stripped from the bed and thrown in one corner into a less than neat pile which was doubtlessly meant to be a nest. The fact that it would quiver and whimper on occasion tipped him off to the fact that buried inside said mound was Anduin.

“Come out from there, Crusader. You need to eat something.”

No immediate response. Then the pile twitched and trembled and a blonde head emerged from beneath the heavy furs. Blue eyes squinted against the light of the sun still filtering in through the windows and landed on the basket before he made a questioning noise. The basket clattered against the floor as it was set down.

Garrosh sorted through the basket’s contents a moment before looking up again to find the Paladin still precisely where he had been, staring at him. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“I’m not…” he blinked, face flushing a pretty pink color, “wearing my leathers.”

Peeved golden eyes met embarrassed blue ones. “Do you at least have your small clothes on?” a small nod. “Get out here. Those furs will be covered in blood if you don’t.”

“Blood?” hesitating a moment further Anduin began to unwind himself from within the thrown together nest. “Why would I be getting blood onto the furs? What’s in the basket?” shoulders first, broad and strong for his build, thin chest, well defined from disciplined training bearing a handful of scars and with a dusting of small golden hairs, and then the rest of him; slim hips and those long graceful legs.

His Alpha whined in frustration at Garrosh’s insistence at keeping his gaze on the wall behind Anduin. “Food.” He grunted. “Nuts. Frost berries. Prime cuts of meat, including the heart.”

“Heart?” Anduin grimaced. “Must be a Horde thing; I’ve never heard of anyone eating hearts before.”

He had no desire to listen to the Omega’s inane prattle. “Eat it. The iron will help.” He grunted. “I still have to drag you across half the Tundra.”

Anduin’s stomach emitted an audible growl but he still made no move towards the basket. Blue eyes shifting from it to Garrosh and back again. Small, blunt white teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “This is rather…inappropriate.”

Another disinterested grunt. “I’ll leave it here.” He said. “I’ll come back for-.”

“Don’t.” A beat of awkward silence in which they both stared at each other. “It’s just…I could easily eat that entire basket five times over. I…” he blinked, “there’s no easy way to do this is there?”

Both of them stared at the basket for another drawn-out moment. Briefly Garrosh wondered which would be worse, directly handing the heart to the Omega or waiting for him to dig it out himself? He’d already brought him the basket of food so there wasn’t much difference either way.

The Paladin made the choice for him, shuffling the last few feet forward and beginning to paw curiously through the contents. Removing some nuts and berries, a bit of the odd smelling fungus he’d seen others eating around the Hold, a few strips of dried meat and then the heart.

Between the size of a grapefruit and an orange it was red in color and still slightly damp. Hours old at most. Not quite still warm. The Human’s lips thinned into a pale line and he appeared to steel himself before sinking those blunt teeth into it, a thin trickle of blood dribbling from one corner of his lips. Anduin seemed to have a mild bit of trouble swallowing, biting back the urge to gag, but hunger ultimately won out over squeamishness and he succeeded.

“It’s not bad.” The words sounded half choked. “More the fact of what it is that’s difficult to swallow, for lack of better phrasing.”

“Standard fare for the Horde, as far as delicacies go.” A hawkish gaze prompted the Omega to take another rather reluctant bite. “Your people eat snails and cow tongues.”

“Not in the south.” He snorted. “Stormwindians consider things like fish cheeks and-my personal favorite-comb honey to be delicacies.”

“Fish cheeks?” Garrosh repeated. “Fish don’t _have_ cheeks!”

The little Omega burst into chime like laughter, rocking back slightly as his slim form shook with mirth. “They’re not literally cheeks, Overlord. Just small morsels of meat on the face of a fish. And you’re not likely to find them on any table the King himself isn’t sitting at as they’re reserved for the rich and royal.” He said. “Here, I saw a Dragonfin Angelfish in that basket. I’ll show you.”

The blonde shoved the partially eaten heart between his teeth to hold it in much the same way one might an apple and dove back into the basket. Rummaging around for a few moments before locating the salt brined fish and pulling it out. Without access to a knife Anduin went after the portion of meat in question with his fingers, tearing out the ragged edged cut a moment later and triumphantly holding it out towards him while dropping the fish back in. Smirking when it was Garrosh’s turn to look dubious. “Come on, then. I tried yours. It’s only fair.”

The Human was being far too friendly and there’d already been far more circumstantial, understated intimacy between them for his comfort without adding allowing the brat to feed him into the pile as well. This needed to stop now! But that damned insistent sunny smile and the playful challenge in his blue eyes prodded at the same miles wide slightly petty competitive streak that Varian had such a knack for treading all over and led him to once again ignore his better judgement. He caught the hand attempting to playfully shove the fish into his face in a firm grip, well aware he could snap the thin wrist with just a bit more pressure. “Sticking your hand into a wolf’s face is asking to be bitten, Little Lion.”

Those wide empyrean eyes were locked on the strong jut of his tusks, appreciatively examining the etched patterns of the metal rings adorning them with something dangerously close to desire. Garrosh didn’t know what came over him, he should have just pushed that thin hand back into the little Human’s own space though the wiser reaction would have been to push him entirely away, but he pulled it closer instead. Taking the small morsel carefully with his teeth while making a point of lightly scraping sharp points against calloused fingertips.

The Paladin’s breath hitched, a renewed flush of pink creeping down across his chest as a light shudder ran through his body. Orcs didn’t have that sort of reaction. Perhaps it was a Human thing? Could it be leveraged against others?

Anduin gaped a few moments and swallowed hard before gathering himself and retreating. Not just pulling his hand back once Garrosh’s hold had loosened but scooting several paces back across the floor, swallowing hard. “So?”

Garrosh spared him a half-interested grumble. “’Delicacy’ or not to you puny Humans it takes more than fish face to feed an Orc.”

Aside from the snort of amusement the little Omega afforded that comment the rest of their meal passed in a silence which was only mostly uncomfortable.

“Do they have baths here, Overlord? Anduin asked once the contents of the basket had been done away with. “My sense of smell has gotten a bit more sensitive now that…and ‘Scourge goo’ isn’t exactly a pleasant fragrance.”

“Ask the Taunka, runt. Not me.” Leaving the basket on the floor along with the remnants of their meal Garrosh turned and exited the room, unwilling to tempt further bizarre encounters with the little blonde Human.

Emitting a nonplussed chirp and shaking his head, Anduin pushed the aching of his muscles persistent hunger and the cloying stink of Scourge away for long enough to pick up a bit before pulling his leathers back on and gathering up his armor and mace. Joints creaking almost enough to rival the floor boards, he trotted down the hallway and descended the flight of stairs which he found at the end.

He was met at the bottom by the sight of a Taunka woman staring at him with curious brown eyes.

“Um…hello.” Anduin said, flashing the warmest smile that he could. “There wouldn’t happen to be somewhere I can bathe and wash my clothes and armor, would there? The smell is starting to get at me a little bit.”

She blinked, seemed to recover-not that he could really blame her, it was probably more than just a little bit surprising to find an Orc well known for disliking Humans in the company of one-and nodded. “Oh yes, of course. There’s a small pool just behind the inn which is kept warm by the springs but is close enough to the village to be free of the Scourge.” She said, indicating a hanging hide. “You’ll have privacy.”

“Thank you.” He said, smile still in place. “I won’t be too long.”

Pushing the heavy hide aside, Anduin stepped out of the inn and out onto the salt white rock outside. Damp and warm from the spring though the air remained almost bitingly cold. Approaching the lip of the pool Anduin crouched down and began scrubbing off the crusted black ooze which had dried across his silver armor and onto the soft silver blue of his tabard. Once that was done he set them aside to dry, checked his surroundings again and then removed his leathers. Folding them neatly and setting them aside.

Cautiously, well aware that natural hot springs could reach temperatures far above boiling, the young Paladin dipped his toes into the steaming water. Painful compared to the cold air but pleasantly warm once he’d had the time to adjust to it. Shivering in the cold, Anduin quickly slid down the shallow incline and into the water. Chirring happily as he sank in up to his shoulders, spending a drawn out few minutes simply reveling in the leeching warmth before beginning the process of washing up. Attacking the tangled matting in his hair with his fingers until the foul black goo dried into it had been washed out and then gently relaxing the strands.

After spending a few more minutes reveling in the warm water, observing the green and purple twist of the northern lights in the sky, Anduin reluctantly pulled himself back up into the cold air and redressed. Gathering up his armor and going back inside. Heading back to the second floor.

The door of the room where Garrosh was staying for the night was firmly shut and no immediately discernible sound could be heard from inside. With the memory of that broad powerful chest still fresh in his mind his Omega, closer to the surface than Anduin ever usually allowed due to the proximity of his heat, pushed him to entreat entry. To transfer the nest he’d swiftly thrown together-and wasn’t it a rare relief to have an outlet for that urge-into the same vicinity of the only unrelated unbound Alpha who knew what he was and whom he had any reason to think wouldn’t treat him as an object but he forced the thought away. Not only would it be far from unwise but he doubted the Overlord would be overly pleased by such behavior.

Getting tossed out of a window wasn’t an experience he particularly wanted to have, given that defenestration wasn’t a trait often sought for on resumes.

Even royal resumes.

Armor clattering hollowly as he gathered it closer, he continued the rest of the way down the hallway. Setting them down just inside the door and crawling back into his nest of furs; burying himself beneath the heavy warmth and waiting to slip in the calm serenity of settled instinct which would normally come from such indulgences. This time, though, it didn’t happen; his Omega far too focused on the Alpha in the other room.

Don’t get your hopes up; you won’t have any luck, he wanted to tell it. Pity that that side of him wouldn’t listen. Though it was understandable, the Prince supposed, given the fact that he’d never once listened to it. Couldn’t afford to lest he give himself away though that was no excuse.

Sometimes he wondered if the Omega who’d accepted what they were, put themselves at the whim and mercy of an Alpha, were happier that way. Sometimes he realized that it didn’t matter, because even if they were happier than he was it didn’t mean that they were happy.

His neck twinged and Anduin reached up to lightly rub at the area in hopes of relieving some of the pain. The scent gland at the base of his neck, along the slope of where it met with his shoulder, slightly swollen and no doubt beginning to turn red. Damp with oil beginning to bead along the skin. Grumbling, the Paladin squirmed about in his nest until he got his hands free and then fumbled along the floor until he found the strap on his pack. Reaching inside and locating the soft cloth contained there.

The only way to make the pain go away completely would be necking with an unrelated Alpha. Preferably the mate he knew he’d never have. But his father’s scent would at least take the edge off enough that he could sleep while he still had the chance.  He’d have to use the scent wash he had with him in the morning, though the last one hadn’t come close to wearing off, just to be certain no one else would catch wind of him.

Returning the cloth to his pack of supplies Anduin curled up once more beneath the furs and willed himself to sleep.

The success that he met with was debatable. The next morning he crawled back out from the warm mound and, after dosing himself in the scent wash, replaced the furs on top of the bed. Strapping his arm back into its proper place and securing his pack around his waist Anduin exited the room and headed down the stairs.

Garrosh was already on the lower floor and shoved a packet of dried meat into his hands, expression curled into a mask of disgust. “whatever you poured on yourself reeks.”

“False pheromones, Overlord. And that’s the point.” His stomach grumbled and Anduin quickly tucked into the bag. “Can you still smell me under it?”

“Yes, and the combination’s sickening!”

The Paladin’s eyebrows drew together. “Really? That’s…strange.” He muttered. “I was certain it was only because I maybe hadn’t renewed the wash in time…”

“Puzzle that out elsewhere, Crusader! I’d prefer to be rid of you _before_ you fall face first into your heat and I have to beat you off me with the hilt of my axe!” Turning his back on him Garrosh exited the inn, plated footsteps thudding against the wooden stoop outside. Finishing off the piece of meat that he’d been eating Anduin tucked the rest away in his pack for later and followed him out.

Reverence snorted at him and flicked his long, white tale. Garrosh was already astride Zosha, worg and Orc alike staring at him with glinting amber eyes. Freeing his horse’s reigns from where he’d tied them Anduin braced one foot in the stirrups and slung himself up onto his mounts back. Relaxing against his horse’s neck, earning silent cries of relief from his cramping muscles as the tide of hormones already raging in his body grew higher.

“Lead the way, Overlord.” His voice was muffled in the horse’s mane. “I don’t think I have much more time than a handful of hours before I can’t contain myself anymore; I’d prefer to have locked a door between me and giving away my secret by jumping the first poor unsuspecting Alpha I come across.” A weak smile as he turned his head enough to meet narrowed, fox like eyes. “At the moment that Alpha happens to be you.”

“You’d best contain yourself until we get to the crossroads, runt, or I’ll feed you to a Jormungar!”

With a quiet snicker the young Paladin prodded Reverence after Zosha and they left Taunka’le once more for the open tundra. The sky was devoid of clouds, the sun bright enough that it made the temperature at least bearable whilst beating down on them. A Gnomish biplane from the Fizzcrank airport could be seen in the sky from time to time, as well as what might have been a red drake, but aside from that the most entertaining thing they saw was a Gorloc; squat and Murloc-like with finned ears and platted skin. For the most part Anduin kept his eyes on the stubby grass and veins of permafrost and mud which crisscrossed the frozen ground, not wanting to give his rapidly strengthening Omega any more material to salivate over.

What it was about the Orc he didn’t have the slightest clue-the challenge? The rebellion of it? The faintest potential of finally being free? Maybe just the fact that Garrosh radiated ‘Alpha’ in a way he’d previously only thought his father capable of?-but for some reason his Omega reacted to him more than it ever had before. By the Light, before the prior night he’d never have considered steak knife length tusks to be anything even close to attractive.

What was happening to him? Something surely had to be wrong with him for him to suddenly be acting like this out of the blue. Was he coming down with something? Yes, that had to be the only explanation.

His father was going to kill him.

His inner Omega let out an annoyed huff and turned its back on him. Far too busy trying to keep his breathing in check as his body became more and more sensitive, Anduin failed to notice.

They reached the Crossroads at about mid morning, the sun a pale yellow-white color as it hung in the sky. Warsong Hold’s bladed form squatted off to the west of them and to the south, perched on the coast, the blue flags of Valiance Keep waved in the arctic wind. Anduin dared, briefly, to chance another glance at Garrosh only to find the Overlord was staring at him. Golden eyes quickly darted away once caught.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I suppose this is where we part ways. Thank you, Overlord Hellscream, for…well…” his voice trailed off. Garrosh’s response was a noncommittal grunt before pulling his mount around and starting back towards Warsong Hold. Sighing and shaking himself off Anduin twitched the reigns and headed into Valiance.

If there was one thing relieving about the constant state of mortal danger which hung in the air even here it was that it made it so that very few people bothered looking at him long enough to realize the Crusader in their midst was their Crown Prince. Procuring a portal to Dalaran’s Purple Parlor was simple.

“ _Anduin!_ ” He was barely given time for his vision to clear before his slight form was yanked forward against his father’s breastplate, the familiar calming scent of spice and steel polish-a different sort than Garrosh used, a small part of him helpfully noted-and home surrounding him as powerful arms wrapped around his waist. A low rumble echoed in his father’s chest and Anduin chirped in answer, allowing those arms to push him back far enough for the King to get a proper look at him. “You’re late. I expected you here yesterday. At the latest. Told Fordring not to send you on that mission.” Varian’s blue eyes narrowed sharply. “Did something happen?”

“It was a trap. The phylactery was a fake.” Anduin pulled his lower lip between his teeth, briefly considering how much information he could give without risking undue smothering, perhaps to the point of being forcibly dragged back to Stormwind, before settling for “I was one of few survivors. Only a handful of us made it out.” A very small handful indeed.

Thank the Light the scent wash he’d used that morning covered any lingering traces of Garrosh which might otherwise have hung about him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that some of the Crusaders who fell were your friends. I can’t say I regret the Orcs who fell, however; with any luck Hellscream was one of them.” Anduin had to force down the urge to squirm as those blue eyes fell on him again. “Your heat?”

“Hours.” He said, somewhat uncomfortably. “I’ll admit that I was irresponsible in letting things get this far down to the wire. I’m sorry, father.”

A plate gloved hand easily the size of a dinner plate fell to his shoulder and squeezed. “No one knows. Your secret is still safe and so are you and that’s what really matters.” He said, then gently pushed him towards a nearby hallway. “Jaina’s put everything in place for you; the door will be magically sealed until your time has passed so that there’s no risk anyone will stumble on you.”

“Thank you, father.” The heavy ache which had been steadily increasing over the passed few hours and days had transformed from an ache in his muscles to an ache in his core. An ache beginning to become more and more prominent as minutes wore on. “Far be it from me to tempt you to do so but I’m surprised you haven’t asked me to return to Stormwind for my time.”

“Were I to be in Stormwind over that period I would, but I’m going to be here instead and would rather be present in the area during the time there’s the most danger of the truth coming out.” His father’s scarred face twisted, briefly, into an expression of concern. “I’d rather not return home to discover that my son’s been taken and that I have to tear Stormwind down stone by stone to find him.”

Anduin offered the King a small smile. If only more Alphas could be like his father. Sadly, among Humans at least, Varian was a rare case; one in a million if not even less. “Why are you staying in Dalaran?”

The souring of his father’s expression made it immediately clear that whatever it was it had something to do with the Horde. “Never you mind.” Had it not been for his encroaching heat Anduin had little doubt his father would have told him at least something more than that. “Go.”

Dipping his head in a show of respect Anduin pushed open the door of the room and stepped inside, small and dim and homey, complete with baskets of food and clay jugs of water and a nest of fine Quel’dorei silk as well as…other necessary implements for when thin fingers inevitably ceased to be enough. When the door swung shut behind him with a quiet click a gentle ripple of Arcane power swept over the space.

Taking a steadying breath, worrying mercilessly at his bottom lip, Anduin began the painstaking process of stripping down to the skin.


	4. The City of Magic

_Beneath the dimness of the room the familiarity of his quarters back in Orgrimmar remained comforting, though Garrosh didn’t have much focus to spare for that fact. Lit only by the orange glow of the dying fire which filled the space with a thin pall of grey haze, the air was laced heavily with the scents of night woodsmoke and something with striking resemblance to mulled wine. Moonlight slipped thin fingers through the curtained windows, spilling in narrow silver ribbons onto the Omega who’d made himself quite at home atop the pallet of sumptuous furs on which Garrosh had slept since first arriving in the city. Their scents saturating the fabric and painting lightly across smooth, alabaster skin; a warning to all that might make any attempts at things they shouldn’t that he’d bonded with an Alpha more than able to defend him; a proud declaration of his ended need to hide._

_Golden eyes took in the image presented to him with something bordering dangerously on awe, struck not for the first time since their mating with heartfelt shock that the little Omega had chosen him, and yet the knowledge that he had would never cease being gratifying. Anduin, the menace Crusader, the only Human whom the Overlord considered beautiful-if in a different fashion than the savage beauty of an Orc-and could be bothered to spare any consideration to, had chosen him. And every aspect of his posture in that moment said as much without denial; chest to the furs, back curved into a graceful arch and hips raised; slick dripping down trembling thighs as a wanton warble rang from his lips. His blue eyes were ashy and half lidded as he peered back over one pointed shoulder, lips pulled between blunt teeth so often they’d been left wet and almost kiss bruised._

_The warble dropped off into a soft purr as his large calloused hand found the small of his back. Running up along soft, cool skin. Slipping between narrow shoulder blades and into silken gilded hair. Guiding his head to the side and revealing the silvered evidence of mating marks braceletting his throat. That lust saturated gaze found his, pink lips curling upward into an almost lascivious smile as he crooned a low, breathy “Alpha.”_

Garrosh Hellscream jerked awake, trying desperately to convince himself that what he’d just woken up from was a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. Disgust. Yes. _That_ was what he was feeling. Most definitely. Because what other explanation could there be, knowing that he had a scrawny Human lodged like a thorn in his mind, agitating his Alpha and heating his blood? And as for the impressive erection he was fully aware he was sporting, well…it wasn’t as if this was abnormal for a young unmated red-blooded Orc. It had absolutely nothing to do with the contents of that horrifying dream.

He needed to go down to the baths immediately. Hopefully the hot water would wash away the lingering knot of sensation left behind.

It had been almost a week, now, since he’d left the blonde menace at the Crossroads and yet he’d never quite succeeded in getting him off his mind. The weight of his sleeping form against his chest. The saccharine scent of coming heat. The way he’d looked with the light of battle shining in his eyes and the blood of the Scourge splattered across his skin.

Growling, Garrosh collected his leathers and swiftly exited the room.

Warsong Hold, as always, was awash in motion and clamor. The sounds of clattering ceramic and laughing voices spilled from the door of the inn, an echolalia of off duty guardsmen and the Champions who often pulsed in and out of the Hold like blood through a warrior’s veins at rest, waiting for the day to age and the sun to chase away some of the northern chill before heading out to complete menial tasks for money. Mercenaries, that was really what they were, and Garrosh had very little doubt that somewhere around 90% of them would gladly do the bidding of an Alliance dog if it would pay them well enough.

Peons dressed in leather straps and carrying heavy boxes of supplies and tools darted about, vanishing into the stables or disappearing through the gaping doors towards the quarry below, their green skin slick with sweat despite the early hour. Good. Work was their place and they’d best work hard or they had no place in the Horde. Thrall, Garrosh knew, would disagree and it was only the knowledge that his oft times infuriating mentor and father figure would soon be arriving in the Hold that kept him from barking at the nearest to lift more and run faster and subsequently lead them to collapse by evening.

Heat billowed in steady waves from the open furnaces and roiling flames of the forge, the metallic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer falling upon a new blade or piece of armor, echoing outwards like the tolling of a brazen bell. Glancing inside as he passed, the Overlord was pleased to catch sight of a massive black furred Tauren posted at an anvil, ashes clinging in the coarse bristles of his pelt.

The smells and sights and sounds were all familiar, by now. Even with Saurfang ever present as his unwanted and, at least in Garrosh’s mind, unneeded babysitter Warsong Hold was _his_ domain. The place where his word was, ultimately, law baring rare instances in which word of certain practices made it back to Thrall and the Warchief saw fit to actually come down off his high worg and scold him for it. It should have been enough to distract his inner Alpha, if not to satisfy it, yet it wasn’t. Almost a week since he’d gotten free of the little runt, yet despite his best efforts, the most ardent attempts to flush all thoughts of him had failed. Garrosh would have loved nothing more than to forget that the Crusader named Anduin, last name still a mystery, existed because attempting to puzzle out why in the elements the Human had looked familiar would have been the exact opposite of forgetting him. His Alpha, however, wanted something quite different and had clung onto everything it could of the Omega. The way his blue eyes had flashed while he’d battled with Scourge many times his size. The sound of his laughter. The heat laden sweetness of his scent.

The brief glimpse he’d caught through the upper window of his unclothed body, lithe and smooth and soaking wet.

The whole point of making for the baths rather than attempting to wait for the matter to pass had been to make his little problem better, not worse! Growling under his breath and forcing himself to block out the renewed deluge of images, both those from his brief time with the maddening whelp and the handful of dreams he’d been forced to suffer through which showed a terrifying alternate reality in which he’d somehow wound up _mated_ to the menace Garrosh ducked into the baths and made for the nearest one. Ripping the furs hung about it closed to afford himself some privacy and drawing the water, he pulled off his leathers and tossed himself carelessly into the wooden basin. A tide of water, close to scalding and slightly herbal smelling, sloshed over the side and pooled on the floor.

The Overlord paid it no mind; mopping up the spillage was someone else’s problem. He had more than enough of his own to deal with at the moment, the last thing he needed was for Thrall to show up in another hour and have to explain his current condition, and damn it all it had flagged slight but showed no signs of resolving itself fully in the time frame that he needed it to.

Which was worse, Garrosh was more than mildly horrified to find himself wondering: his mentor learning of his irrational hang up and treating the matter as if it weren’t all but tantamount to a taboo to both their races or resolving it in time to avoid such a conversation at the cost of rewarding his Alpha’s behavior?

After a moment’s consideration, the Orc decided that it was better-if only marginally-to take the latter option. Though this, he all but snarled at the shameless instinct, would be the _only time_. And he would never, ever, under any circumstance and even the most painful duress admit that he’d ever done so.

Sick with himself in more than one way, Garrosh allowed his mind to travel back to the momentary glimpse that he’d caught in Taunka’le of the subject of his frustration, trying not to dwell on the ease with which he managed to. Golden hair darkened with the water he’d emerged from, sticking haphazardly to his shoulders and neck. The sheen of moisture left across his skin reflecting the red light of evening.

_Blue eyes blinked at him from the other side of the wooden tub, curious as they took in the sight of him. Gaze falling quickly to his swollen length and sparking with heat as the little Human took in the size and the bone piercings which studded the underside. His soft chirp was answered by an encouraging rumble and, spurred on, he moved forward through the water. One small cool hand landing on his bicep, then moving to his chest as the blonde arranged himself comfortably on his knees, apparently unbothered by the fact that the hot water came half way up his neck._

_Despite the spread of pink across his cheeks the young Crusader had no hesitation in leaning forward, tongue flicking out to swipe across his swollen head before the Omega made a failed, if valiant, effort to take him in his mouth. Those small blunt teeth brushed lightly against sensitive skin as he suckled and licked, thin agile fingers and calloused palms making themselves quite useful in seeing to what he couldn’t reach. Purring and mewling as he worked, encouraging Garrosh to tighten his grip on the long mane of silken hair. Stifling the guttural groans which wanted to break free so as not to draw attention to his compromised position._

He wasted no time in cleaning all traces of evidence away when he finally came across his fist, wrapping the memory in mental chains and lobbing it into a fire before clambering out and redressing.

Stopping by his rooms to retrieve his armor and weapon and strap them into proper place Garrosh made his way down to the lower floor and found his mentor standing beside Saurfang in the center of the map.

“Garrosh,” Thrall said, stepping forward with a smile on his face. “Varok has told me of what happened at Naxxramas; where its’ nothing short of a tragedy that we lost so many good Orcs I’m relieved that you, at least, were able to return.”

The younger Orc grumbled in response. “It’s no relief to me to know I owe my life to a scrawny _Human_ Paladin.” He snarled, already expecting the pro-Human comment to follow.

“They’re not as different from us as you and they may like to think, Garrosh.” Thrall informed him patiently; this was an old point of conversation between them and many other Orcs that his mentor never seemed to lose patience for. “When we head in to Icecrown for the Argent Tournament I’d like you to at the very least point them out to me so that I can give them a proper thanks on your behalf.”

Garrosh grunted, narrowing his golden eyes. “The only reason I agreed to go to that damned farce of an event was for the chance to pummel Wrynn into the ground, unfortunate as it is that this time I won’t be able to kill him.” He snapped. “I’ve had more than enough of the Argent Crusade as it is and will already be forced to put up with the Mage City and the King of the Dogs today. I’d rather spare myself further exposure.”

It was bad enough that half of him wanted to try to seek the young Crusader out amidst the crowd. To see him again. To catch another whiff of that heavenly scent, weak as it would be now that his heat had passed.

It was in no way consolation that the Crusader he’d somehow managed to become so hung up on was doubtlessly equally dismayed by the matter of their strange fixation with each other-he refused to so much as consider what had happened really was imprinting because considering it could be meant acknowledging the possibility was there and that opened up a road he wanted nothing to do with-as having his Omega at the fore would all but certainly threaten his ability to continue posing as an Alpha. All the more reason to keep himself as far removed from the little blonde as possible; Human or not, Garrosh wanted no hand in landing an Omega in conditions like what Anduin had described.

‘Delta’s’, a specific term for the rare subset of Omega whom were born male. The ‘jewel’ of the brothels and bordellos in which they were made slaves, left at the mercy of honor less Alphas who had no care for the responsibility which came with what they were and would rather use a diamond like a whet stone. Being chosen not good enough, ignorant as they willfully were to the privilege that it was.

The thought of the gilded Crusader ever finding himself in such a position, of hands that weren’t his touching him in places they had no right to…a growl rumbled in his chest before he could catch it. Thrall shook his head and sighed. “You’re still young. I hope that, in time, you’ll be able to see that the races whom make up the Alliance aren’t evil. Even if you can truly call a Human or a Night Elf or a Draeni your friend I’ll consider tolerance enough to ignore their existence a victory.”

Garrosh didn’t want to consider the reaction his mentor might have to learning of what he was really wrestling with. Knowing Thrall, he’d consider a half-Orc half-mystery-human-who-wouldn’t-divulge-his-own-identity-to-save-his-life to be a laudable achievement rather than an abomination. Orcs, without doubt, were the superior race and as such their blood ought to remain pure, untainted and undiluted by that of other races. His father having already been behind the taint, he’d prefer not to likewise contribute to further impurities. Half-Tauren, Half-Blood Elves and Half-Trolls were bad enough but half-Human? Half of the enemy?

They didn’t belong in the Horde and they didn’t belong in the Alliance. The kindest thing to do to such a creature would be to cull the cur at birth.

“I’ll tolerate the Alliance once they’ve been reduced to nothing more than memories.” He growled. “Does that damned knife ears have the portal into Dalaran open or are we going to be forced to wait even longer before this tea party with your precious Mage can be over with?”

The older Orc, by now, was used to such behavior and though the look he sent him clearly stated ‘we’re going to finish this conversation later’ he allowed the matter to drop for the time being. “Magister Hathorel should have the portal open for us by now, yes.” He said. “We’ll be staying the night at the Filthy Animal after our conference with Jaina, Rohnin and Varian’s delegation; I’m not certain what it’s about but the summons sounded dire. This is no matter to be trifled with and as such I expect you to _behave_.”

The look in Thrall’s eyes brokered no negotiation. The Overlord snorted and looked away. “I’ll behave if that dog bastard Wrynn does.” Garrosh already knew-and, in fact, was counting on-the King wouldn’t. The Human’s leader never could contain himself in such situations.

No doubt recognizing the cop out for what it was Thrall heaved a long-suffering sigh. “One day soon, it’s my hope that you’ll be capable of being the bigger man.”

A harsh scoff was Garrosh’s only answer. He followed the older Orc back up the ramp to the main floor of the hold and, after retrieving Zosha and Snowsong from the stables, proceeded to the inn where the shimmering blue portal stood waiting for them.

Of all the types of magic the Overlord despised portals were the type he hated most of all, responsible as they were for the ultimate state of his world. He disliked the way it felt to use them, cold and prickly like electricity arcing across his skin, and wasn’t much fond of the notion of trusting the Arcane to dissolve him into little bits at one location and spit him out at another properly reassembled. Shaking himself out thoroughly once on the other side, shooting Thrall a dark glare when he caught sight of his mentor’s smirk, Garrosh was certain that the flush of goose flesh which had broken out across his body would remain there for a fair few hours.

Surrounded by far too many pinched faced Knife Ears for Garrosh’s taste, the pair of Worg mounted Orcs made their way out of Sunreaver Sanctuary and down the streets of Dalaran. The floating Mage City was perfectly tailored for inhabitation by the magic wielding fiends, every brick spire and shingle absolutely dripping with the Arcane. Everything was pale purple or levitating or so ridiculously thin that it couldn’t support itself against the pull of gravity and Garrosh hated it. Were matters up to him, he’d never set foot in this damned city again.

While the vast majority of him was mired in glaring mutinously around at all the signs of Mage craft his Alpha was busy futile seeking signs of Anduin. Once he realized this was happening he quickly quashed the matter and, once more, that other side of himself slunk away into its mental corner to sulk.

Sometimes Garrosh wished that it would just stay there.

The Violet Citadel stood dead center of Dalaran, rising high above the glittering lavender roofs of the rest of the city in graceful spires of white and purple like the towering stalks of the reeds he’d sometimes seen growing along the banks of ponds.

They left their worgs untied at the foot of the Citadel’s stairs and proceeded up them, and then up another flight inside the building. The room which they were led to was open and cavernous and continued the infuriating pattern of purple and yellow which seemed to permeate the city. The Mage Rohnin Redhair stood off to one side on a slightly raised platform, listening to the gruff explanation of a Dwarf which was perched atop a barrel, but Garrosh’s full attention was immediately centered on the other Alpha in the room.

Varian Wrynn, clad as always in his blued steel armor and clutching Shalamayne, was flanked by a pair of guards and with a Mage clad in the colors of the Alliance not far behind him, and stood on the opposite side of the room. He turned his head the instant he took notice of them, harsh blue eyes narrowed into a burning glare. Everyone around them tensed as the sour scent of aggression filled the room.

“Garrosh.” Thrall warned, low and firm. The younger Orc ignored him, continuing to glare at the Human across from them.

The thought that there was something about him which looked oddly familiar briefly surfaced, but was quickly swept away by snarling instinct when Wrynn bared his short blunt teeth at him and spoke in a voice all but indiscernible from a growl.

“I should have known that your death at Naxxramas was too much to hope for.” He spat, turning his glare on Thrall instead. “What the hell are you thinking bringing your mad dog to this meeting, Orc?”

“Garrosh is my student, Varian, _not_ my pet. And where he may be a bit quicker to act than I’d like at times he-.”

“What’s wrong, Wrynn? Can’t manage to kill me yourself? Is that why you’re so disappointed to see me back?”

“Garrosh!” Thrall went entirely ignored.

“I’ve killed greater foes, greater men, than you Hellscream.” The King snarled, stepping forwards, a challenge in the set of his scarred face. Sneering back, the Overlord pulled Gorehowl down his from his back.

“Garrosh, behave!” But all in the room already knew it was a lost cause. Thrall turned to Jaina in desperation, looking on worriedly beside the other Mage. “Is the Prince still here? If not, can he get here quickly? At least to calm his father down?”

“He left for the Tournament Grounds last night.” Jaina told him, looking for all the world as if she wished that weren’t the case. “We won’t be able to get word to him in time. I doubt he’d even be able to get here in time to stop them even if he was still-.”

Steel clanged against steel as the pair crossed blades, sparks scattering across the polished tile floors. Varian’s guards drew their weapons and started forward as the pair grappled but didn’t get the chance to intervene before Rohnin took the matter out of their hands. A pulse of Arcane pushing the pair apart, coming dangerously close to throwing them both to the ground.

“ _Enough_!” His voice echoed off the tiled walls. “We’ve all lost a great deal in this war, but if we’re to go without losing any more we _must_ work together!”

“Together?” Varian scoffed, turning a lion like gaze on Rohnin instead. “At the Wrath Gate, the Horde’s ‘partnership’ cost us more lives than the Scourge! I will not abide by the risk of working with them again!”

“A true Warchief,” Garrosh snarled, rounding on Thrall with his axe still drawn, “would never partner with _cowards_.” Shouldering passed the older Orc and ignoring Varian’s gaze burning holes into his back he headed for the door.

“I think a break may be in order.” Jaina said with a sigh, equal parts exasperated and exhausted. “Perhaps when we reconvene we can actually discuss why we called this council to begin with.”

Thrall nodded. “I’ll retrieve him. Hopefully by then he’ll have calmed down enough to see reason.”

“I wouldn’t expect much.” Varian sneered.

“King Wrynn, with all respect.” Rohnin’s voice was firm. The King of Stormwind scoffed. “Perhaps we should call for Anduin. We can wait to resume until he arrives. Having a voice of reason-.”

“You will not bring my son into this!” Varian snarled. “I don’t want Anduin anywhere near Hellscream! It was bad enough to discover that Fordring sent him in a group which would partner with him to infiltrate Naxxramas! Call my son back here against my wishes and this Council ends!”

“Very well.” He said, heaving a heavy sigh. “We’ll resume once Thrall returns with the Overlord, hopefully to better results.”

None of them seemed to have much faith in that.

Once Thrall had made his way back outside he found Zosha had been left where she’d been when they’d first arrived. Garrosh hadn’t taken his mount but, rather, had gone off into the city on foot. At least that meant Thrall could be assured that the younger Orc hadn’t simply gone back to Warsong Hold or retreated to the inn for the night. With the knowledge that he was somewhere in the city the Warchief of the Horde set out to find his wayward pupil.

The Sunreaver Sanctuary revealed no signs of Garrosh and the expected places-weapons stores and drinking spots-likewise yielded no results. When Thrall finally found the younger Orc it was in the last place he’d ever have thought to look: a spice store owned by a High Elven woman who seemed to be equally confused to find a massive Orc critically examining a mason jar full of something dark and viscous.

“Honey.” Thrall supplied somewhat awkwardly, attempting to work out what precise reason the younger Orc would have to be in that particular shop. As far as he was aware, Garrosh wasn’t much of one for inventive cooking. “It’s a Human thing.”

“I’m aware.” The mason jar clacked against the shelf as it was set back in its proper place, the label beneath it reading ‘Elwynn Forest’. “Bee vomit and fish face. Bizarre food for a bizarre race.”

‘Bizarre’ was a flattering descriptor compared to what Thrall knew Garrosh had called Humans in the past. “You _did_ make a friend.”

Growling, the Overlord fixed him in a baleful golden gaze. “What makes you think something that ridiculous?”

“Because ‘bizarre’ is a kind descriptor, by your standards.” Thrall said. “And because you’d have to have talked to a Human to know about fish cheeks, and that’s a subject which would only come up in civil conversation.”

The younger Orc grunted.

“Was it one of the Crusaders?” he pressed, grinning. “Perhaps the one who saved your life.”

“He’s an annoyance of an Omega, not a friend.” Catching sight of the expression of surprised delight on Thrall’s face Garrosh sneered. “What?”

“An Omega?”

“Don’t. Even.”

The older Orc chuckled. “In the Old Horde, and the current Alliance, a relationship between our races and theirs would be dangerous. The Orc could be ejected. The Human jailed at the least. But in my Horde?” Thrall shook his head. “It takes strength and fortitude beyond that of even the greatest warrior to meet your enemies with love instead of hatred. And a mated relationship between our races would go further towards an end to the fighting than any victory or defeat ever would. There will always be those who look down on it, but the Orc-and their Human partner as well-strong enough to bare that deserves nothing but the utmost respect.

“Go recruit someone else; I heard Earthfury, for example, was still single. Or you could do it yourself. There’s already rumors flying around about you and your Mage.”

“Jaina?” Thrall shook his head. “We’re only friends, Garrosh. I’m happy with that and she’s shown no sign of wanting to be more.”

“And if she did?”

His mentor sighed. “You know that I prefer to lead by example whenever possible. Love knows no bounds and being ashamed of it will only hurt you in the end.” The younger Orc spared him an only semi-interested grunt. “Don’t let their race stand in the way of being with them if you really care about this person. Or you may lose them to someone else.”

A false Alpha, hiding away in the shadow of his important father. Doomed to life unmated, unless he was discovered and forced into a bond. “I doubt that.”

Thrall didn’t comment on how tense he’d suddenly become. “Come back to the citadel. The matter for which we’ve been called here is of dire importance and we can’t sit by and allow the Alliance to have all the glory now can we?”

Another grunt as Garrosh turned away from the shelf of jars and followed Thrall out. The sooner they could get to the Argent Tournament, and the sooner he could pound the damned King into the ground, the better.


	5. Poke and Prod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of filler chapter before things pick back up with the revelation of Anduin's identity next chapter.

Though neither man would ever like the other once dragged together again by the combined efforts of Jaina, Rohnin and Thrall Varian and Garrosh were able to ignore each other beyond the occasional drawn out caustic glare long enough to hear the Dwarf’s tale about the contents of the Titan facility of Ulduar and pledge-in a rapidly ramping up competitive manner-the assistance of the greatest champions of the Alliance and Horde respectively. Though the main body of each Factions government was still focused on the ever advancing if at a snail’s pace campaign against the Lich King’s dread perch at the peak of Icecrown Citadel, fifty souls on each side were promised to the matter, may the best one win. And where treating the potential of an Old God breaking free of its ancient bonds and killing them all as more of a chance to measure the length of their proverbial ‘swords’ against one another than a matter of true potential for disaster at this point Jaina considered it a victory to come away from the meeting without having to call in for room repairs.

She’d relaxed her guard a bit too quickly though, it seemed, as Varian and his entourage wasted no time in tearing after Thrall as he busied himself with herding Garrosh out of the building.

“Holy Light.” Jaina sighed, shaking her head. “They’re like children!”

Rohnin looked unimpressed with the matter, rubbing the bridge of his nose in a way which made her think the older Mage was silently praying for patience and firmly communicated his desperate need for a nap. “If only King Wrynn took a bit more after his son. More Alpha’s who somehow managed to retain as much calm as Anduin would only make this world a better place. And potentially put the Faction war to rest.” He turned to look at her. “Might I inquire as to the Prince’s reasoning for his brief stay here? To my knowledge no one saw him after his arrival, almost as if he didn’t go out prior to his return to the Tournament Grounds.”

Jaina looked at the other Beta and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rohnin, but that information isn’t mine to share. The Prince had a dire need for short term privacy and returning to Stormwind wasn’t an option. Dalaran was his only choice.”

“An emergency, then?” he sounded genuinely concerned and Jaina couldn’t help but smile; few in the world could make it through meeting Anduin without liking him. A unique trait, she’d found, even among Omega.

“Of a sort.” She started towards the door of the room at a rush. “And I’ve the sneaking suspicion this may turn into another one if I don’t lend Thrall a bit of aid in keeping them apart. Excuse me.”

Her shoes clicked hurriedly against polished stone floors as she hurried down the inner stairs and ran out the Violet Citadel’s front door.Taking the other staircase two at a time and slowing to a stop only once within ear shot of the two parties whom had stopped in the courtyard. Varian and Garrosh appeared to be squaring off once more, though this time it appeared to be for a purely verbal battle. Still, Thrall and Varian’s guards were looking on with obvious concern for the situation’s potential to spontaneously combust.

For now, at least, and much to Jaina’s relief their stand off seemed to be limited to bladed words instead of bladed weapons. Though if the incident inside of the Violet Citadel earlier went to show anything it was that bladed words could escalate into bladed weapons in half the time it took to blink an eye. She slowed her pace to a cautious stride, frost magic chilling her fingers in case she found the need to swiftly separate the pair.

Varian’s scarred face was set into a cruel sneer, stood tall and proud as the lion on Stormwind’s standard. Garrosh had coiled into a fighting stance like a wolf poised to pounce, golden eyes ablaze and lips pulled back over sharp teeth and large tusks.

“I expect that you’ll be coming to the Argent Tournament, Thrall?” he drawled. “Savages that you may be, I’m sure that Fordring doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem terribly bothered keeping the company of Death Knights, after all.”

“Yes, Varian.” Thrall said with a long-suffering sigh. “We were extended an invitation to join in on the festivities and tests presented by the Tournament. Orgrimmar will be sending a delegation, as will Silvermoon, Sen’jin, Thunderbluff, and Undercity. I’m sure that your Alliance is doing much the same?”

“And it will be my pleasure to see them crush your Horde, Orc.” Blue eyes shifted on to Garrosh, alight with savage glee. “I have every intention of joining my men in the arena. I expect that you’ll do the same, _Overlord_?”

“If you thought for a moment that you were going to escape facing me, Dog, you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Garrosh snapped back. “I’m going to take great pleasure in beating you into a pulpy mush in front of your precious Alliance. They and all their leaders will see the truth that even the ‘Greatest Human Alpha’ can’t hold a candle to an Orcish one.”

“Attempting to catch the eye of an Omega, are you? Hard to believe even a blind one would want anything to do with you.” Varian spat.

The Orc’s response was a feral snarl.

“Need I remind the two of you that the Argent Tournament is strictly no-kill?” Jaina piped up from where she stood. A delegation from Dalaran was also going, herself among them, and though a part of her was looking forward to the festivities which were sure to surround the Tournament at which gathered the greatest Champions that the Alliance and Horde, as well as the other factions such as the Ebon Blade the Wyrmrest Accord and the Silver Covenant, had to offer another part of her-the third part which wasn’t already taken up by the concern inherent of being on Icecrown Glacier, in the very shadow of the Citadel-was genuinely concerned for the effectiveness of the Argent Crusade’s efforts to keep peace through it all. There was some consolation at least in the knowledge that Anduin’s presence would aid in calming his father.

Unless, of course, the proximity of the little Omega in hiding to Garrosh, a rival Alpha whom Varian held such deep-rooted hatred for-a proximity which was ultimately inevitable, of that much the Archmage had no doubt-did exactly the opposite and sent him into an even deeper rage instead.

With any luck, that wouldn’t prove to be the case.

“Pity.” Garrosh spat. “My axe would love nothing more than to taste your blood, Wrynn.”

“Only a small pity, Hellscream.” Varian hissed back, long ragged ponytail swinging behind him as he turned and began to walk away. “Fordring’s policy only bans killing on the Tournament Grounds. Brutally maiming you is still fair game.”

Leaving Garrosh snarling and both Mage and Shaman sighing in relief in his wake, the High King of the Alliance and his entourage exited the scene.

Growling, Garrosh flounced off moments later going in the opposite direction.

“With any luck,” Thrall said, “they’ll pound this madness out of each other to the point where they can work together. At least for a little while.”

“We can all hope for miracles.” Jaina shook her head. “Light willing, they’ll come to pass.”

For the second time that day Garrosh Hellscream found himself wandering through the City of Magic alone without any particular destination in mind. They’d be leaving for the Argent Tournament Grounds the next morning and finally, after far too long, he’d have the chance to beat the Alliance King like the wretched mutt he was yet all he could focus on was what else a visit to the Argent Crusade’s grounds within Northrend would mean.

Anduin would be somewhere amidst the roil of tents and Champions and other Crusaders. And once more having access to him meant that his Alpha was pushing at its bonds. Huffing and growling. Traitorous what-ifs bubbling up from its fang lined maw: what if he took the little Human Omega with him back to Orgrimmar, damn the reaction of everyone else be they Human Orc or otherwise. What if he removed him from the reach of all other Alphas that might steal him, either by binding him in chains or catching his eye the way that he’d somehow managed to do without intent. There wouldn’t be much resistance. The little minx had invited it. Had accepted the courting which Garrosh hadn’t meant to extend when he’d eaten the food that he’d brought him. A fact that the little Omega had acknowledged when calling it ‘improper’. He should bring a gift: proper form was an object made by hand from the parts of something fierce he’d brought down with his weapon but there wasn’t enough time before setting out. Not to find such a beast, bring it down and then make something of it which wouldn’t be rejected. What choices were there then? Elven perfume? Dwarven make jewelry? The finest furs for sale in Orgrimmar?

Ripping himself free of the mental spiral he’d fallen into Garrosh charted a course towards the Sunreaver Sanctuary and the portal back to the Horde’s mighty capital which had been erected there. He couldn’t get rid of thoughts of that damned Paladin! Images of the little Omega were as pervasive as the Scourge Plague which had proved such a problem for their soldiers in this war. If better sense couldn’t prevail any better against instinct and urge than it could against rage than perhaps he could drive thoughts of him out by bringing to mind the little brat’s father and all he’d surely done against the Horde to have become so important within the seething ranks of blue and gold which made up the Alliance. But first he needed to find out who they were, and that would require research. Something the Overlord wasn’t exactly good at.

Luckily, he knew of someone who was.

After so long spent in the oppressive chill of Northrend the heavy, dust laden heat of Orgrimmar was like walking into a wall. Squinting against the searing white glare of the sun hanging overhead, Garrosh made his way down the slopping road towards the Headquarters of the Shattered Hand.

He found Shokia leaned against the wall, midway through the process of cleaning her rifle. Hearing the thud of his footsteps against the ground she looked up and then quickly stood.

“Overlord Hellscream,” she said, “you’ve returned.”

“Not for long.” He said. “We’ll be headed to the Argent Tournament tomorrow but I’ve found myself with an…unfortunate obsession and seem to need a bit more information than I currently possess to shake it off. I need you to look through files for me.”

The marksman blinked at him, confusion settling over her features. Harsh planed and narrow. Entirely unlike the Omega’s smooth elegance and high cheekbones. Her eyes were dark instead of blue but the shaft of sunlight playing off the emerald curve of her skull helpfully reminded him of the flowing golden mane of a certain Young Lion. It was nearly enough to make him forgo the entire effort in favor of fleeing the unwanted reminder. “Information, Overlord? On what?”

“Which high ranking officials in Stormwind’s damned military have sons and what their names are. Shaw, Clay, Wyrmbane, all of them! Don’t ask why and don’t tell anyone! Send the information to my room at the _Filthy Animal_ by moonrise!”

“Yes Overlord.” He heard the clank of her mail armor as she saluted but didn’t look back. “It will be in your rooms by dinner.”

Shokia didn’t disappoint and the files were there, precisely on time and exactly where he’d expected them to be; stacked in the middle of the furs slung across the bed. Garrosh spent most of the rest of that night pouring over them. Seeking the menace Crusader’s name somewhere amidst the ranks of the elites of the Human’s forces and the children that they’d sired but not finding it. There were plenty of names that started with A among them-Alcott, Ancel, Aurelius-but no Anduin. Near dawn and with no choice but to sleep or to suffer a disadvantage when he met with that damned King at the Tournament Grounds, Garrosh lobbed the files in his hands across the room in disgust listening to the limp splat sound the papers made as they connected with the dust strewn wooden floor. Throwing herself down onto the pallet and pulling the furs up over his shoulders, trying desperately to focus on thoughts of the way Varian had looked at him that morning, as if he were a rabid animal to be put down, in hopes the smoldering hatred-comfortable in its familiarity, smooth edged and worn like old leather-would keep further problematic dreams at bay.

But the blue eyes he saw did not belong to the Alliance’s King, and a tiny traitorous part of him which the Overlord gladly would have strangled if he hadn’t been so tired was glad for that.


	6. The Argent Tournament

Time and again with this infernal continent, just when Garrosh allowed himself to become convinced that things couldn’t possibly get any colder he was proven wrong. The Borean Tundra had been cold compared to Durotar. The Dragonblight had been cold compared to the Borean Tundra. But this place? ‘Cold’ didn’t even begin to properly describe what the air atop Icecrown Glacier felt like. It wasn’t the kind of cold that made skin burn and smart. It was the sort of cold which, on contact, removed all ability to feel one’s extremities, leaving fingers dull and wooden even beneath layers of armor plating and thick fur.  The ground wasn’t covered in snow, there _was_ no ground; no matter where in the region they went they’d find themselves standing on hundreds of feet of solid ice, slick and dark and reflecting the same dour tones of green and black as the swirling clouds above. White and blue and black had been the only colors for miles around as the massive war ship, the Orgrimm’s Hammer, had moved through the silent sky. The only things to break up the fields of ice swarming with the forces of the damned were the massive forms of the three saronite gates-Corp-rethar, Aldur-thar and Mord’rethar-and the rigid spires of the terrible citadel itself. And then the Tournament Grounds had come into view: a garish splash of sudden color against the surrounding ice packed into a narrow space beside a sheer cliff dropping away into the North Sea hundreds of feet below.

At the center of the Tournament Grounds was a massive hall of wood and stone, though one which had plainly been built in a hurry and which Garrosh had little doubt housed the main ring in which the Tournament’s matches would take place. Surrounding it were a number of smaller aspirant rings and a wide horse shoe of tents, the deep purple of the Kirin Tor serving to separate the arm of deep crimson and charcoal and the arm of garish cerulean and gold. At the far end of each side were the black rune adorned tents of the Ebon Blade’s delegation and the multicolored tents of the representatives of the Wyrmrest Accord.

Their Wyverns touched down outside a towering silver tent and they dismounted, Rehgar eyeing him but saying nothing as the pair followed Thrall through the open flap. Inside, sheltered from the ripping wind and driving snow, it was noticeably warmer-much to the shared relief of all three Orcs-and swarming with Crusaders of all stripes, clad in identical silver plate and tabards baring their sunburst standards. Garrosh wasn’t certain which fact disappointed him more, that his first action was to scan the space for that familiar mane of sleek golden hair or that he didn’t find it.

A tall, human Paladin with hair and beard gone white and a face beaten withered with age and sun and wind approached them, a blazing blade strapped to his back. Tirion Fordring, the Highlord of the Argent Crusade and the man responsible for putting together the force which had joined with theirs in moving on Naxxramas. Garrosh huffed and crossed his arms.

“Tirion.” Thrall greeted warmly, stepping forwards.

“Warchief Thrall.” The Human echoed, taking the offered hand in as strong a grip as such a weak race could muster. “You made it here safely?”

“Indeed.” Thrall said. “The guns on the Orgrimm’s Hammer had to blow a few Frostwyrms out of the sky but there was little trouble beyond that. You’ve established quite a foothold here.”

Quite a target, more alike.

“It was difficult, but with the Light’s aid and a hand from our friends in the Ebon Blade we managed.” He said. “The Sunreavers and the Silver Covenant both are integral to supplying us with the necessary rations and supplies in order to remain entrenched here, so close to the Citadel. How’s Eitrigg?”

“Eitrigg is well and asked after you also.” Rehgar said, still sending Garrosh the occasional suspicious glance. The younger Orc, meanwhile, had gone back to looking around the massive tent. Maybe he’d missed the Crusader during his first sweep? Maybe the Paladin had come in while he was unaware? No Kodo, though; there was no further sign of Anduin than there had been in the first place. “On account of his age and the need of some trusted officials to remain behind to oversee the city’s workings he wasn’t able to accompany us.”

“Well, I’m pleased to know that he’s well.” Tirion said. “Perhaps after this war is over, I’ll come by Orgrimmar to see him. The Argent Crusader, after all, is a neutral organization.”

“We’d be honored by your visit, Highlord Fordring.” Thrall’s wide smile was almost blinding. Garrosh grunted, sneering.

“Well, I’m sure you’re all tired and would like some time to rest before the start of tonight’s activities.” Tirion said, stepping back towards the open flap. “I’ll give you a brief tour of the Grounds and then will take you to your tents so that you can rest.”

“That sounds good; thank you Tirion.”

A silent nod from Rehgar. Garrosh could only barely be bothered to spare a disinterested grunt.

“The grounds of the Argent Tournament are neutral territory, which means no inter-Faction fighting is tolerated outside the rings. Anyone, regardless of their allegiance or status, who’s caught violating this rule will be permanently barred. And anyone can go anywhere they wish, baring entry into private tents.” In their brief time inside the tent the wind had died down but snow had begun to fall again. Thick fat heavy flakes which were dry as desert bone and almost razor sharp. Sticking fast to skin and clothing like burrs made of ice. Flags hung limp and yet, in the absence of the wind, the temperature seemed to have dropped even further. The ice beneath their feet crackled as they walked. “Peace Keepers patrol the grounds at all hours to preserve tolerance, in the even that niceties are too much to ask. And within the rings themselves fatal harm isn’t tolerated.”

As if Garrosh hadn’t heard all of this before.

“The Faction camps are located behind the main coliseum building; from the North, Ebon Blade, Alliance, Silver Covenant, Kirin Tor, Sunreavers, Horde and Wyrmrest Accord. While, as I said, there is no rule against members of the Horde entering the Alliance encampment and vice versa it may be best…”

“To stay away from Wrynn and the Alliance.” Rehgar’s gaze was directed plainly at Garrosh.

“Told as much to the Human King and his damnable hounds, did you?” He growled.

The old Paladin nodded. “The High King and his delegation arrived last evening. And yes, I informed him of as much.” He said. “I haven’t the power to order either of you to give each other a wide berth outside the ring lest the rules need to be enforced so simply consider it a well-meaning suggestion.”

Garrosh snorted. “Keep your suggestions to yourself, Paladin!”

“Garrosh!” Thrall scolded. Rehgar simply shook his head. Both went ignored.

“The stables,” The Highlord continued, clearly in an effort to steer the conversation back into safe water, “and the vendors’ tents are over here.”

After what felt like a small eternity but was more like a handful of minutes, they’d circled the Tournament Grounds-crossing through the main buildings so as to avoid the Alliance side of the encampment-the aged Paladin finally left them be amidst the cresh of red and grey tents.

“The first match begins in just over an hour.” Thrall informed him, Rehgar having already wandered away much to Garrosh’s relief. “Meet me outside of the coliseum before then; we’ll enter as a group. You’re free to do as you please until that time.”

“Marvelous.” He drawled.

“Garrosh,” the older Orc said with a tired sounding sigh. “For the sake of my sanity, stay away from the Alliance Encampment while we’re here.”

“I want nothing to do with dogs I can’t whip.” Garrosh grunted. “I’m not going to cost myself the chance to pound Wrynn in the ring tonight.”

“Good.” Though Thrall still seemed nervous of leaving him alone. “Remember, one hour.”

Garrosh waited long enough to be certain his mentor was out of sight before turning on his heel and making North, soon finding himself in the midst of rippling blue and golden fabric. He hadn’t seen hide or hair of Anduin during their tour of the grounds. There was only one place they hadn’t gone through and that meant that there was only one place the little Human could be.

Already he was surrounded by the stink of the Alliance, the frozen air doing nothing to abate it. Night Elves and Draeni and Dwarves and Gnomes and Humans all buried beneath piles of fur to keep warm. Discernible only by height and the presence or absence of long ears and sharp horns. Golden eyes scanned the area once, twice, and then he saw him. Golden hair and fur-lined Argent plate immediately recognizable.  Garrosh sped his pace, almost slipping on the ice, and caught his arm.

The little Omega leapt a whole foot in the air and spun around, letting out a huff of breath when he realized who it was. “By the Light’s sweet mercy, Overlord!” Pulling the arm Garrosh had caught hold of gently from his grasp, Anduin placed his hand against his gleaming breast plate. Garrosh could see the pulse racing in the side of his neck. “You startled me!”

“Ice isn’t exactly a quiet thing to walk on, and plate armor doesn’t afford much for stealth.” Garrosh grunted. “You should have heard me coming, runt.”

“Yes, well,” Anduin looked around them almost nervously, as if expecting something large and vicious to pop out from among the tents at any moment, “I’m a bit distracted at the moment. What brings you here?”

An inexplicable want to see him again. “These grounds are neutral, Paladin. I don’t need a reason to be here.”

Snow was settling on his shoulders and in his hair. Blue eyes scanned the area again before they returned to him, a streak of annoyance blazing through him in the moments that they weren’t. “If you say so, Overlord.” His brow furrowed briefly. “My apologies but I’m afraid I must be going. I’m a part of the King’s delegation tonight and, well, father’s insistent that I wear Stormwind colors. I still need to change, and there’s barely enough time…”

“What are you so concerned about?”

“I don’t want to get either of you in trouble, but if my father sees you here, he’s liable to explode.” He stepped away. “I suppose I’ll see you later tonight, though this will likely be the last time we ever have anything bordering on a civil conversation.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because you’ll know who I am. And I won’t just be ‘Anduin’ anymore.” Turning away, the little Paladin trotted off and vanished through the open flap of a tent of considerable size, leaving Garrosh annoyed and confused stood out in the cold.

Anduin, safely sequestered in the Prince’s tent, braced his back against a support beam and closed his eyes. Listening to the clink of glass from off to his right.

“You shouldn’t keep such company, your Highness.” A cup of tea was gently pushed into his hands by withered fingers. “Your father won’t be pleased when he hears word.”

“Thank you, Wyall.” Anduin said dryly, accepting the cup and taking a drink. Feeling the liquid warm him from the inside out. “And where you’re right that father won’t be pleased, I know what I am doing. Orcs aren’t monsters and as a member of the Crusade I’m afforded certain protections.”

Now it was his aged man servant’s turn to sigh. “I’m not certain your confidence in as much is well placed, my Prince. Perhaps you’re right in saying Orcs aren’t monsters but Garrosh Hellscream is no less dangerous for it.

Very much done with the topic of conversation, Anduin set down his empty cup on a nearby end table and redirected matters. “Father wants me to change into Stormwind colors?” he asked. “I understand, at least to some degree, why if I’m to be a part of his delegation at tonight’s festivities I shouldn’t opt for the colors of a neutral organization but surely a tabard would be more than enough.”

“For a Footman. Not the Crown Prince of the Alliance.” Wyall said. “I’ve laid things out for you, your Highness. Come. I’ll help you put them on.”

Another heavy sigh. “Thank you, Wyall.” Anduin followed his man servant into the other room. A luxurious enough space, as far as tents went, with a wall length mirror and a fourposter bed included. The young Prince missed the frigid standard issue tent he’d lived in prior to the move on Naxxramas. Uncomfortable as it had been at least it had afforded him some illusion of being normal.

A deep blue blouse and white pants, along with supple leather gloves and thigh length fur lined boots. The most garish, sumptuous eye-catching cloak which Anduin had ever seen; a deep blue heavy piece with a velveteen collar flecked with black like ashes. Mechanically, almost, he began to strip off his armor. First his boots and gloves. Then his belt. Then his leg plates and spaulders and chest piece. Now dressed only in his leathers and bare foot in the plush furs which had been sprawled out to form a barrier against the ice, the Paladin arranged the armor carefully on the bed before peeling off what remained. Covering bare skin with the richly dyed pants and blouse instead. Stepping into his boots and pulling on his gloves.

Wyall stepped forward and draped the heavy cloak around his shoulders. Stepping around in front of him to do up to buck horn cinch at his throat. Anduin stared past him into the mirror, blue eyes unfocusing slightly as they fell on his neck. The bare expanse of skin where an Alpha’s claim should have been but never would be. He could imagine it all too easily; two crescents, raised and silver-pink, with the bottom one baring the unmistakable marks of tusks.

His Omega whined and shifted in its chains, the memories of the…fantasies? Delusions…? which had come to him in his heat bubbling back to the surface. A massive chest and burly arms with the dark lines of graceful tattoos spiraling across hot brown skin. Calloused hands as large as platters with fingers as thick as three of his. Fox like gleaming eyes. If his father knew that, in his weakest moments, he’d craved nothing more than to be aggressively bred by an Orc-no, not just an Orc but specifically _Garrosh Hellscream_ -…the thought alone was enough to give him a head ache.

If the news alone didn’t cause a fatal heart attack or explosive aneurysm there’d surely be full scale war between the Alliance and the Horde. The King would hunt Garrosh down and skin him like an animal if he ever found out, and the Orc hadn’t even done anything.

Wouldn’t ever do anything to him except maybe kill him after tonight. Once the truth came out. It was better that he put it out of his mind. Shake off the irresponsible, unrealistic thought that he’d ever have the one thing he really craved-a mate who’d care for him-before it led to his disguise falling through.

“You’re ready, my Prince.” Wyall said, stepping back. Anduin pulled a wafer thin smile onto his face. “Now you’d best be heading next door to your father’s tent. They’ll be heading out to the coliseum soon for the night’s games.”

Anduin nodded and headed towards the flap of the tent, his heavy cloak swirling at his ankles and the phantom sensation of large calloused hands burning against his flesh.

His father was already standing outside with the others when he joined them. The King spared him a brief, approving glance and ordered “stay close” before setting off. The trek from the Alliance encampment to the entrance into the coliseum was once he’d made many times by now on the countless patrol shifts he’d run with his fellow Crusaders. Not short but not long either. Anduin found himself praying to the Light that they’d be able to get inside without running into the Orgrimmar delegation which contained Garrosh, whom his father positively hated and his Omega was inconveniently obsessed with. Light, he wouldn’t have been honest if he didn’t admit that he was inconveniently obsessed with the Orc as well. It was only sheer luck and the inherent paling factor of shock which had prevented his face from turning bright red when he’d found himself face to face with him again. He’d had to will his breathing to remain even and had succeeded only barely, but he hadn’t been able to keep his heart from racing.

Thank the Light for the fact that the scent wash he’d taken was still fresh enough to cover up the slight curl of arousal which would surely have been noticeable otherwise. He should never have eaten anything from the basket which Garrosh had brought him in that room at the inn in Taunka’le. He’d known that it was improper, had known that he should never have accepted food from an Alpha especially that close to the onset of his heat, but he’d had no way of knowing that it would result in his Omega taking on the view of ‘we are now courting’ in regards to him.

Naturally, the result of what he asked for was receiving the precise opposite. The Orgrimmar delegation arrived at the same moment they did and all Anduin could do was brace himself for what was certain to be a near catastrophe. He wasn’t disappointed, because the instant they laid eyes on each other both Garrosh and his father moved in. Snarls on their faces and bladed words on their lips. Thrall’s efforts to end the spiraling argument went ignored. The King’s Guard stood by. Though he’d really have preferred that the revelation be made a bit more gently Anduin couldn’t allow them to become physical or he’d have no choice but to give them both the boot.

“ _Father, enough!”_ It was only rarely that he injected so much force into his words and that was what drew Varian’s attention. The use of ‘father’ while addressing the King was what drew Garrosh’s, an almost horrified comprehension dawning on his face. “Crown Prince of Stormwind aside, I am still a Peace Keeper of the Argent Crusade and was given the responsibility of keeping matters civil by the Highlord. Save it for the ring or I’ll be left with no choice but to throw both of you out into the snow.”

It was Varian who backed down first, sending a poisonous glare in the Orc’s direction. “I’ll see you at sword point, Hellscream!” He stalked through the darkened doorway, the rest of Stormwind’s delegation trickling after.

As Anduin turned to follow he heard a harsh, snarled rasp of “you’re a Wrynn!” Narrow golden eyes were fixed on him in what almost looked like betrayal. Lowering his gaze and dipping his head in shame he opened his mouth to reply-though what he would have said he hadn’t a clue-but didn’t get the chance before his father barked his name. Startled, the Prince swiftly scurried away.

Even in the gloom of the tunnel the grimness of his father’s face was unmistakable. “Stay _away_ from Garrosh Hellscream.”

Anduin hung his head again and nodded. His Omega let out a broken whimper and curled into an even tighter ball.

He hadn’t spent much time inside the coliseum before then and as such the rows of wooden benches and the vivid banners hung from the walls were unfamiliar. He recognized a few people sitting in the rows: Darion Morgaine, Tirion Fordring, Vareesa Windrunner, Aethas Sunreaver, Jaina. At the bottom of the spectator’s stands was the ring, walled off from the crowds. This would be where the Champions, and ultimately his father and Garrosh, would cross swords. Across the ring from where they’d taken seats, the Orgrimmar delegation had taken up position. Anduin could feel golden eyes burning holes into him, unmoving, nearly unblinking, but he didn’t dare to even so much as glance at their owner. Didn’t know what his Omega would do if he did. Could already feel the call desperate to bubble up from deep within him but Anduin kept it contained by the skin of his teeth. Exhaling a shaking breath. Watching the matches without paying any attention to the score. About hallway through the night Jaina came to sit with them and he was glad for the distraction. Using conversation to block out the sensation of those blistering eyes when will alone proved not to be enough.

When the time finally came for the pair to leave their seats and prepare for single combat he almost sighed in relief. Together, he and Jaina proceeded down to the bench closest to the railing and looked down into the ring just as the gates slid up and they entered. It had been a long time since Anduin had seen his father in full armor, the lion-maned helm of their ancestral plate on his head; passed down through the Wrynn Line from his grandfather to his father and, maybe one day, him. Garrosh’s helm, much like the rest of his armor, was tinted a dark almost brassy brown and bristled with curving horns like that of a bull.  How anyone could see through eye slits that thin and narrow he hadn’t any idea.

They circled each other like wolves with teeth bared. Weapons clutched white knuckled at the ready in their hands. And then, at once and as if in response to some silent signal only they knew of, both lunged. Gorehowl and Shalamayne crossing with a sound like breaking thunder, spewing blueish sparks onto the scuffed ragged ice. They pushed against each other. Muscles bulging beneath plate as they strained. Glaring hatefully at each other from a distance of mere inches.

And then those burning eyes flicked up to meet his and Anduin couldn’t keep his breath from hitching. Some deep and primal instinct pooling heat into his belly at the sudden knowledge that, whether his father knew it or not, this wasn’t a battle over who was the stronger warrior. It was a battle over rights to him. For the Overlord’s right to wring his neck, at the very least, for his deception benevolent as it had been.

They disengaged. Gorehowl snarled as it was swung through the cold air. His father grunted in pain as his spaulder crumpled beneath the blow, the eagle’s head bending out of shape until it was no longer recognizable as its original form. Blood oozed from busted hinges. Bones were broken, surely.

Anduin winced, clutching the wooden bench beneath him.

Varian shifted Shalamayne to his other fist and raised the blade to block the overhead strike which followed. Wounded as he was his father had been set at a disadvantage, one arm being out of commission and leaving his entire left side wide open. Garrosh, scenting blood, went in for the final blow. Varian, though slowed by his wound, wasn’t about to allow himself to be brought down that easily. Dodging the arc of the axe and then flinging himself forward into his foe. His uninjured shoulder colliding with the Orc’s breastplate with an echoing crash that had certainly knocked the wind out of them both and sent the pair tumbling.

Garrosh recovered before Varian could get a good enough grip with his working arm to push himself upright and flipped their positions. The King landed hard on his back and the blunted top of Gorehowl’s blade resting against his throat with enough force to make him gag. Pinned, hate burning clear as day in his eyes, Varian wriggled but was helpless to throw him off. The Overlord had won and they both knew it.

Stunned silence had fallen over the Alliance while the Horde erupted into raucous howls. A smattering of polite clapping issues from the neutral Factions. Garrosh didn’t so much as spare them a glance, eyes resting heavy on Anduin for a drawn-out moment before he lifted his axe and turned to walk away.

Anduin bid a swift farewell to his surrogate aunt before rushing from the coliseum, reaching the infirmary before his father did. As he sat the towering warrior down on one of the narrow cots, carefully removed the damaged armor and treated with wound concealed beneath with careful fingers. And as he listened to his father spit and rage without really listening, he turned over the possibility of what that burning gaze had meant time and again in his head but could come up with nothing.

His Omega let out an exasperated huff and settled down to rest.


	7. Suspect Invitations and an Obvious Case of Homicide

As politely as was possible Anduin had extricated himself from his obligation to appear along with the rest of the Stormwind delegation at the nightly matches the past handful of days, citing a desire to return to his duties as a peacekeeper on behalf of the Argent Crusade. Ostensibly, that was true. In reality it was more accurate that he was doing his best to avoid any possibility of contact with Garrosh. What little time he wasn’t patrolling the grounds, remaining well away from the Horde encampment whenever possible, he spent with his father who, with his help, had recovered quickly from his injury and whom, to Anduin’s knowledge, had yet to succeed in getting a rematch out of the Orc. Whenever he was out on patrol he was alone only when he couldn’t possibly avoid it, usually accompanied by some of his fellow Crusaders or friends he’d made among the Draeni while he’d trained under Velen and, if none of them could be spared, members of the Stormwind Guard whom had accompanied the King to the North.

He wasn’t certain what it was that he was afraid of exactly. Doubted that the Overlord would find hunting him down to be worth the required effort. Maybe he just didn’t want to face the reality of the situation. Would rather continue to duck in cover than let the truth catch up to him and be forced to watch the closest chance he’d ever have at a natural existence slip away. He knew it wouldn’t last forever but had hope that he’d at least make it to the end of the Tournament, if only by the skin of his teeth.

Of course, fate decided that that wasn’t to be. On the one day that he hadn’t been able to draft anyone into paying him company he also found himself unable to avoid passing through the Horde encampment on his route. On high alert, blue eyes scanning the area around him and poised to bolt if need be, Anduin made his way carefully along. Trailing flags and scarlet tents whipping in the arctic winds. Towering figures belonging to Tauren and Trolls and Orcs, though none of them were the hulking Alpha he was set on watch for, passing by and around him like the rushing current of a river. An Undead Hunter was shooting at a wooden target which had been dressed up to look like a San’layn. To his right in the Horde aspirant’s ring a pair of Sunreaver Champions mounted on pepper feathered hawkstriders clashed, their long lances colored with stripes of vivid vermilion.

A voice from the left of him, muffled beneath layers of scarf and fur-lined leather helm, called out and, reluctantly, Anduin stopped. Turning his head. It wasn’t Garrosh Hellscream striding towards him with long purposeful strides but that did little to relax him; his posture wasn’t quite threatening but not inviting either. The man was a Blood Elf by the look of him, though admittedly it was difficult to tell under all the winter armor he was clad in, with an impressive set of daggers strapped to his belt shaped like long black fangs. The main give away of his race, aside from his height which was much less than those of the other Horde races-barring the Forsaken, whom were the same approximate size as Anduin was considering that they’d been Human prior to their deaths-were the barely visible points of long ears emerging from beneath his helm and the fel green glow of his eyes.

He swaggered up to him, calm and confident, and smiled beneath his helm. Beta, Anduin noted mechanically somewhere far back in his mind. “You’re Anduin Wrynn, yes. The Crown Prince of Stormwind?”

“I am.” Anduin answered coolly, eyes watchful. “Though I am also a member of the Argent Crusade acting as Peace Keeper for the Tournament. Politely keep in mind that undue aggression outside of the rings will not be tolerated.”

“I don’t come for a challenge, Prince.” The Elf informed him. “Only to deliver a message for someone else.”

A message? “From whom?” he asked.

“From Overlord Hellscream.” The Elf said it matter-of-factly. Anduin’s heart dropped and he was only barely able to prevent himself from toppling over in surprise. “The Overlord of the Warsong Offensive requests your presence at tonight’s games as his guest. As a member of the Argent Crusade, not the Crown Prince of Stormwind. You’ll sit with the Orgrimmar delegation.”

The message which Garrosh had actually told the Elf was, no doubt knowing the Overlord, a great deal ruder. “As his guest?” He repeated dumbly.

“Indeed. He’s known for hating your race but he seems to be hung up on you in particular for some reason I can’t grasp. I mean look at you; you’re far too pretty to be of interest to an Orc! You’ve been avoiding him, he believes, and he would appreciate your company.”

Appreciate the company of a Wrynn? Anduin doubted that. Doubted that Garrosh Hellscream, Overlord of the Warsong Offensive, Thrall’s prodigy and his father’s most hated rival, could ever look passed who he was. Light, it was unfair of him to think that but he couldn’t help it. He probably just wanted to see his father pushed over the edge and ejected from the Grounds.

But what if, his Omega whined, he was having the same troubles? What if he couldn’t stop thinking about him, even though he knew it was the better choice? The safer choice? The same unwise inexplicable attraction? What if he really just wanted to see him again?

That, logic quickly interjected, was unlikely. But he doubted that he’d come to harm that night, unless he were to slip on the ice or suffer from some other unpredictable accident with which the Overlord had no part, as Garrosh had seemingly made a point of him being present as a member of the Argent Crusade and not the Prince of the Alliance.

And, diplomacy was quick to add, it would be horrifically impolite of him to ignore or turn down the invitation. Though his father would no doubt vehemently disagree, there was no need to start an international incident.

“I’ve simply been busy these past few days. There was no conscious intent to avoid crossing his path.” Lies. The Blood Elf before him seemed to know it too, though he made no comment on the matter. Decent of him. “I’ll finish my rounds and then go to meet him. Where can I expect to find Overlord Hellscream tonight? The Coliseum?”

“Overlord Hellscream would rather you met him in the Horde’s Faction tent.” Oh boy. That was one of the few areas of the Grounds which were barred to everyone not a member of the in question Faction, though his dual status as an Argent made him an exception to that rule, and was far from what could be referred to as neutral ground. “You’re aware of where it is?”

Anduin smiled politely, keeping the urge to scowl instead at bay. Of _course_ he knew where the Horde’s Faction tent was! He’d helped _build_ the Tournament Grounds! “I am, thank you.” He said. “Please let the Overlord know that I’ll be accepting his invitation.”

Without waiting for the Elf to leave Anduin went back to his rounds; finishing the by now familiar beat a handful of minutes later and spending another five reconsidering his decision before finally, reluctantly, starting towards the largest tent in the encampment. Built of fabric stained a deep shade of crimson the sides had been liberally splashed with the symbol of the Horde painted proudly in tones of bold black. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the cold Icecrown air making his chest ache, Anduin reached out a hand and pushed the flap side. Stepping over the threshold.

Smokey, fire lit and smelling strongly of spices and cooking meat. A handful of massive worgs scattered the space, curled up or sprawled out on the thick furs. In the comparative warmth of the Horde tent the winter armor necessary to last more than minutes outside had been removed, leaving features clearly visible and making the different races easily distinguishable from each other at a glance. A few of those milling around looked up at his entrance but, upon catching sight of his armor, returned to what they were doing after a few tense moments.

All except for one.

He felt the burning gaze on him the instant that he entered. For a moment wondering if the Overlord had been staring at the opening in anticipation for his arrival, Anduin made a point of taking his time to look around the area once, then twice and then a third time before finally meeting those golden eyes. The presence of tusks made the expressions of Orcs very different from those of Humans and subsequently difficult to read. No matter how hard he struggled to piece together what the etched lines in his face meant the emotion they should have communicated remained beyond him. For what seemed like a small eternity Anduin stood across the tent from the Orcish Alpha and neither moved. Then, once realizing that the larger older man was allowing him the first move, he edged forward. A few steps at first. Then a few more. Finally, when he stood at last before the Overlord, Garrosh spoke.

“Finished hiding, runt?” he growled, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

“I wasn’t hiding.” Lies again. Garrosh raised an eyebrow but, like the Elf he’d sent after him with the message, he didn’t call him on it. “It’s simply that…I didn’t think…you’d want anything more to do with me. You seemed to barely tolerate me as it was and now, knowing who I am-.”

“I shouldn’t.” The Orc interjected gravely. “But that’s never stopped me in the past.”

Anduin blinked, blue eyes full of earnest confusion. “But why?” he asked. “Why did you invite me to the matches tonight? As…your guest?”

“There could be a lot of reasons, runt. And I’m not going to make it easy for you by specifying which one it is.” He grunted.

“Like?”

“Maybe I want to see your father’s head pop off? Maybe I want to watch the Alliance squirm? Maybe I find the presence of one of your kind to be novel?” Anduin flinched and turned away, anger beginning to boil up inside him but he barely got the chance to open his mouth before the Orc continued “Maybe I’m just sick of trying to get you out of my head? Trying not to think about you made the matter worse, so maybe if I let myself think about you all of this will go away.”

The Prince could feel his face burning, and it had nothing to do with the recent change in temperature. Thank the Light for the fact that his skin had already been bitten red by the bitter cold outside. Had the Overlord really just admitted they were both having the same problems? If that were true it was all but surely a sign of…this was bad. This was _really bad._

So why did it feel like such a vindication?

“Why, Overlord Hellscream, if you’re not careful someone might get the mistaken impression that you enjoy my company.” He teased.

Garrosh grunted and looked away. “I wish that impression would be a mistake.”

Now he was certain the blush on his face was much too intense to be passed off as the fault of the cold weather outside. Anduin had to blink a few times before finally managing to gather a coherent enough thought to continue their conversation. “Well, if we’re to be considered friendly I think we ought to find something other than ‘runt’ for you to call me if you don’t want to use my name.”

“Menace?” Garrosh quickly supplied.

He sighed. “That’s not exactly flattering either.”

“Oh,” Garrosh stepped closer, towering over him. Their chests almost touching. Taking in his ever-intensifying blush with smug satisfaction. “So it has to be flattering, does it?”

Anduin’s breath caught in his throat. “I-I’d prefer it not to be the opposite.”

Those wolfish golden eyes sized him up for a long while before a smirk curled across his lips. “Kil’azi.”

An Orcish word, though one that Anduin had never heard before. Perhaps a part of a separate dialect from back on Draenor? One spoken by his people, the Mag’har? The Prince waited for an explanation but when none came he asked “what does that mean?”

“A Kil’azi is an animal, Wrynn. The one of which you most remind me.”

“Animal?” he repeated, furrowing his brow. The expression was a far cry from menacing, more like a wolf pup baring a mouth full of half sprouted teeth. “You aren’t just calling me ‘lion’ are you?”

“The Orcish term for ‘lion’ is taken from Taur-ahe. They’re not a species found on Draenor.” He grunted. “You may know the word ‘Talbuk’?”

After a brief moment of thought a charcoal drawing from a book he’d read on the wildlife of Argus while at the Exodar came to mind. Tall, leggy, graceful creatures with sharp curving horns, almost like an antelope or deer. Anduin nodded. “So ‘Kil’azi’ is ‘Talbuk’ in Orcish?”

Garrosh nodded, pleased that he’d managed to work the matter out so quickly. “Placid by their nature but more than capable of slaughtering groups of skilled hunters when threatened.” He said. “They’re essential to the Om’riggor: my people’s rite of passage.”

“Is it some sort of hunt?”

“A solo kill. One weapon. No armor. No provisions. All of Nagrand to kill you.” As he spoke his eyes seemed to glow with the memory of the hunt. “When a young Orc brings a beast down, they paint their face with its blood and return victorious. Only then are they considered a true part of the Clan. A version of the Om’riggor has been adapted to this world but it’s not the same. No game on Azeroth compares. A shame.” He almost seemed to be leering now. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good hunt.”

Anduin canted his head again. “You’re not going to hunt _me_ , are you?”

He’d meant it as a flirtatious joke but the look the Orc gave him made the Paladin think he might really be considering it. “We should head to the coliseum before Thrall comes looking. The matches for the night are about to start and I don’t want to miss your father’s reaction when he realizes you’re with me.”

Internally grimacing and sending up a brief prayer to the Light that Jaina would be near enough at hand to prevent the King from acting on a snap decision and doing something they’d both regret Anduin nodded and followed Garrosh out of the massive tent. Joining the cue of the masses headed towards the building in the center of the grounds.

“A pity to see that your father recovered from his wounds so quickly. Though I suppose it’s not a surprise with you to piece him back together.” Garrosh grunted. “Didn’t take defeat well. Keeps squalling for a rematch I’ve no intent to give him.”

“Why not?” Anduin asked. While admittedly he’d prefer not to have them fighting each other at all, if they had to do so then it was best it took place in the relative safety of the ring. “It would give you another chance to beat on each other like you both seem to want to do so badly.”

“I wasn’t fighting for the sake of my pride. And I won my rights. I’m not about to give him a chance to undo that.”

“You’re rights? To what?” Anduin received no answer.

There were only a couple hundred more paces left between them and the entrance to the stands. Stood between a pair of tents, hissing at each other in tones which suggested an argument but with distance rendering their words unclear, were two men: a Stormwind valiant and the instantly recognizable form of the Black Knight.

Anduin’s eyes narrowed but, apparently sensing his intent to stop, Garrosh caught a grip on his arm and towed him along. Looking back over his shoulder at the verbal confrontation with a brick of dread beginning to form in his belly but knowing there was nothing he could do he allowed himself to be dragged away. Struggling to force the matter along with his suspicions, out of his mind. At least for the time being.

The gloom of the entryway had fallen over them now and Anduin returned his gaze forward. Though he was no longer towing him along and his grip had lightened that massive hand still remained resting on his arm. The Overlord didn’t seem aware of the fact and Anduin didn’t bring it up.

They turned right, instead of left, when exiting the narrow tunnel and ascended a short flight of rickety wooden stairs while Anduin struggled to get his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. Thrall and another Orc whom he vaguely recalled as being called something like Rehgar were already there and both turned to speak at their approach, likely to ask after what had taken the younger Orc so long to arrive, but faltered at the sight of him.

Smiling, Anduin implemented the typical Orcish greeting that Garel had finally agreed to teach him after pestering at length on the matter and brought a clenched fist to the center of his chest in the same motion as he inclined his head forward. “Mok’ra, Warchief.”

“Prince Anduin? This is…a surprise.” Thrall said, an almost nervous gaze flickering to the Alliance stands opposite them. Anduin snuck a glance as well and cringed at the sight of his father sat pole straight on his bench, glaring at them and gripping the wood with near enough force to crack it. Without warning, Varian flung himself forward, no doubt in an effort to run across the ring floor and throw himself into the Horde stands only to have Jaina-who’d likely seen him even before Varian had and thusly been prepared for this very reaction-seize him and pull him back down. An impressive feat considering that she was a slight woman and his father was almost 400 pounds of muscle and solid plate. Magic, no doubt, was somehow involved. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Not at all. I was simply invited to attend tonight’s games as the Overlord’s guest.”

Rehgar blinked at him, then looked between them and narrowed his eyes. “Guest?” he growled. “Garrosh!”

“He’s here of his own will, old man!” Garrosh snarled.

Anduin’s smile faltered. “I hadn’t meant to ruffle tempers.”

Thrall shook his head. “It isn’t you being here that Rehgar is displeased with. He thinks Garrosh’s only motivation to extend his invitation was to rile your father.”

To be fair, he could understand where such thoughts were coming from. “If my presence is too much trouble I can leave. I wouldn’t take offense from it.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Wrynn! Sit down!” A large hand found his shoulder and navigated him down onto the bench beside Thrall. Though from the outside it appeared rough the gentleness of the motion and his grip wasn’t lost on him. “And you, Earthfury!” Garrosh rounded on Rehgar again. “There is little greater privilege to our race than an extension of our hospitality. I won’t have you tainting mine!”

“Enough, both of you!” Thrall said firmly, not missing either the way that Anduin reached up to catch a firm grip on his student’s plated wrist or the way Garrosh’s attention instantly redirected. “Sit down. The games are about to start and you’re making even more of a scene than Varian.”

Still snarling under his breath Garrosh sat down on Anduin’s other side. In the ring below, a Darnassian and Dark Spear Valiant were squaring off.

“How did the two of you meet?” Thrall asked in a manner which was suspiciously innocent.

Anduin looked over and seemed to size him up for a moment before saying “we met during the push on Naxxramas; I was a part of the Argent Crusade party sent to aid the personnel from the Warsong Offensive.” Anduin blew a lock of loose hair out of his face. “It didn’t exactly go to plan but, well…he saved me from being carried off by Nerubians and I saved both of us from getting blow up when Kel’thuzad decided his best available option was the self-destruct switch. We, uh, get along I suppose.” ‘Get along’ indeed. Sneaking a glance at Garrosh he found him shooting his mentor a warning look. That was strange. “I apologize for the losses suffered by the Horde on that day. I’m sure they had families.” He said. “We couldn’t take their bodies with us, but I made sure that Arthas couldn’t do anything to them.”

That seemed to catch enough of the other Shaman’s attention to prompt him to ask “and how did you manage that, Prince Wrynn?” ignoring Garrosh’s low growl.

Anduin reached into the pack at his hip and rummaged around for a moment before pulling out the familiar bottle. “Holy water, blessed by my mentor: the Prophet Velen.”

“Thank you, Anduin. I’ll share word of your condolences and actions with their families back in Orgrimmar.” Thrall said. “And I extend my own. I’m sure that some who fell among the Crusade were your friends.”

Anduin nodded, turning his eyes out across the ring below. “All are one in the Light. And the Light called them home. They’re in a better place now and I’ll see them again one day.” The first match had ended and the gates on both sides had drawn back up. The Black Knight emerged from one side, mounted astride a charcoal stallion with burning eyes. The other gate remained empty. Pulse quickening and eyes going wide, Anduin sat forward on the bench. The attention of all three Orcs immediately on him. “No. No, _damn it_! Not another one!”

“Anduin?” Thrall asked, sounding concerned.

“Please excuse me. Urgent Argent business.” Leaping to his feet and dodging the Overlord’s attempt to catch hold of him Anduin took off down the rickety wooden stairs. Tearing out of the coliseum at a sprint with his cloak flowing behind him like a comet’s tail, only dimly aware of the footsteps which had followed him. Left. Right. Then left again. Searching desperately for signs of what he prayed he wouldn’t find. And then, there! Blood! A spattering of droplets forming a trail which led off into the dark. Without hesitance he plunged forward, hearing the Overlord spit a vicious curse behind him.

“You’re going to get yourself _killed_ , Wrynn!  Draw your weapon before you follow a trail of blood if you can’t see where it leads to!” Garrosh snarled, slowing to a stop behind where the blonde had knelt beside another Human’s fallen form. “Is he dead?”

“Dead?” a mirthless snort. “More like destroyed! His skulls been crushed to a pulp. Light, he doesn’t have a _face_ anymore!” Silver gauntlets, slick at the tips with red blood, clutched at his hair with near enough to force to rip open the scalp beneath. “Why does this keep happening!”

Garrosh stilled, a cold chill which had nothing to do with their location sweeping over him. Golden eyes scanned the dark around them for signs of lingering danger, huffing in icy air thick with the stench of Human blood. “What do you mean ‘keep happening’? I thought there was a rule about killing! Can’t you Argents enforce your own damn laws?”

“I meant that it’s happened before. And that if things keep on like this it’s not going to stop. This is the _fourth_ murder.” Anduin rose back onto his feet but didn’t turn to look at him. “We’ve been trying to keep things quiet and prevent a panic. Most wouldn’t know this but not all is right here. There’s a murderer in our midst. And I have suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

He nodded. “Who it is. Who they work for. No proof, though. Not yet. But this has gone on long enough. Someone needs to look into this.”

Garrosh folded his arms again. “And by ‘someone’ you mean-.”

“Yes,” he interjected, “I mean me.”

“No.” The Orc growled. “You mean _us_. There is no way in the elements I’m going to stand by and have you turn up dead next. You’re _mine_! And a true Alpha protects what is their’s.”

His? Under normal circumstances, Anduin would either have turned so red he began to bio-luminescence in the wintry night or would have bristled at the unintentional equivalence with property but at that particular moment his mind was whirling along far too fast to register as much. He’d have started pacing madly if it wouldn’t have left him at risk of treading all over the corpse. “Us. Yes. Of course. I just need to think on this for the night. Think things over. Come up with a plan.”

“Alert your superior?” this entire debacle could easily go south and, as such, having Fordring at least aware enough that they wouldn’t risk expulsion from the Grounds if their actions were discovered was a wise idea.

“… …”

“Kil’azi!”

“Yes, fine. I’ll speak with him as well.” Anduin waved off the matter as if it was of little ultimate importance. Garrosh narrowed his eyes but said nothing on the matter. “I’ll meet you tomorrow at the Horde Faction Tent and will fill you in further there in regards to what I come up with.” He said. “Goodnight, Overlord.”

But when he went to move around him the Alpha caught his arm again. “You really think I’m going to let you walk off into pitch darkness with a killer on the loose?”

“The Alliance encampment is 500 feet away.”

“499 of which I’m walking with you.”

After 18 years of living with a Gnomish Attack Gyrocopter as a father the Prince knew how to recognize when something was a lost cause. Huffing out a sigh he resigned himself to being marched back to the Alliance encampment all but on the Overlord’s arm. There were no comments but no small wealth of stares as he bid the towering Orc a polite goodnight.

At least he’d managed to avoid running into Varian.

Or so Anduin thought until he walked into his tent and found his father standing there, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“ ** _Anduin Llane Wrynn!_** ”

Light’s mercy, what a way to end an already hectic night. Something told him he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep before morning.


	8. The Black Knight of Silverpine

Anduin had known the moment that he’d entered his tent and found his plainly furious father that he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep and as expected, Varian spared no expense in letting loose. Snarling and pacing and coming very close to breaking something. The Prince by now knew well enough how to handle such overprotective tirades and stood by with hands clasped before him and head bowed forward in a proper show of contrition which he didn’t truly feel and let him yell, silently hoping that no one else would hear but knowing full well that it was a lost cause. You’d have to be deaf or black out drunk not to hear the lion’s roar.

“Hellscream, Anduin? _Garrosh Hellscream, Anduin!_ ” He bellowed. “ _I thought I told you to stay **away** from him! You told me that you were attending to Argent business, and yet you went behind my back instead! Did you really think I wouldn’t realize?”_

“I didn’t go behind your back, father.” Anduin said evenly. “I was attending to Argent business, doing my rounds, but I was approached with a formal invitation that I couldn’t turn down-.”

“ ** _Yes_** _you could have! And you should have, Anduin! Yet you purposefully and knowingly went against my word!”_

“Father-.”

“Father? I’m more than just your father, Anduin, I’m _the High King of the Alliance_! One word to Fordring and I’ll have you _back in Stormwind!”_

Send him back to Stormwind because he dared to be polite to someone his father deemed an enemy? Sure, in reality things were a lot more serious than merely being ‘polite’ but on the surface of things that was all the matter was. Politeness. A familiar sensation of resentment boiled up within him. Yes, he knew his father only wanted the best for him but must he always act as if he was defenseless and entirely incapable of intelligent enough thought to navigate situations such as this on his own?

“Why must you always treat me as if I’m made of glass? As if I’m a child and incapable of making decisions for myself?” it wasn’t a wise thing to say and Anduin knew as much but it was too late to turn back now.

Varian drew himself up taller, blue eyes narrow. “You _are_ a child, Anduin!”

Anduin, too, drew himself up to his own much less impressive full height. “I. Am. Eighteen!”

“If you really wish for me to treat you like an adult than listen to the advisory of those around you!”

Listen to those around him? Really? Was he seriously about to get a lecture on heeding others from, of all people, his _father_? “Like you do, you mean?”

Anduin moved to step around him, tired and at the edge of his patience and just wanting to sleep, but Varian hissed and grabbed him. A grip which likely would have broken at least some of the bones in his wrist if it hadn’t been for the plate he was still clad in but would still no doubt raise bruises that would remain tender for days. His Omega, already closer to the surface than it had ever been before, let out a yelp and Varian released him as if he’d been burned. Freed, Anduin bolted for the other room. Knowing that it would do nothing to keep his father at bay but seeking comfort in the principle of putting distance between them; he felt a margin less stressed hidden beneath the sheets.

True to the Prince’s expectations footsteps joined him in the room, though not right away. Retreating from the tent first before returning. The side of the bed dipping as he sat down on the edge.  Carefully parting the sheets which Anduin had wound around himself in an effort to hide, the plate on his hands carrying the winter’s chill from outside. Reluctantly, he raised his head to meet his gaze.

The anger and protective fire had faded from his blue eyes, leaving them creased and sad. Carefully, he took the wrist he’d grabbed so harshly and removed the gauntlet and the bracer underneath. Pulling out the small vile of pain reliever he’d gone to retrieve from his own tent.

“Did I break anything?”

Looking at the worn, downtrodden expression on his father’s face, Anduin’s heart broke. This had happened far too often now, at this point in his life. Wanting to protect him his father would bring too much to bare, Anduin would rebel to free himself and lash out with words, his father in turn would lose his tenuous grasp on his destructive temper and lash out with violence, and he, so much smaller and weaker, would end up being hurt. Varian would beat himself up over it and Anduin would, in a spell of fear, draw another few steps further back and his father, in consequence, would bare down harder. And the rift between them would crack that little bit further apart.

“No.” Anduin turned up his bare wrist and laid it in his father’s massive hand. A sign of trust he could sense was desperately needed in that moment. “It’s a bit tender, will bruise, but I’ll be alright.”

Wordlessly, the King nodded. Pulling off his own gauntlet and uncorking the little vial with his teeth. Pouring a liberal amount out onto Anduin’s wrist and gently rubbing it into the skin. “I’m sorry. I always seem to…you know I only want to see you safe.”

“I know, father.” Anduin said quietly.

“I know I’m not a model father by any means-.”

“Don’t say that!” His tone bordered on defensive. “It isn’t true. I love you.”

The other man’s laugh was almost entirely devoid of humor. “I’m glad to hear that, Anduin, but that doesn’t mean I’m a good father. Or, for that matter, a good man.”

“You’re good enough for me. And that’s all that really matters.” Anduin looked away. “And I know I’m not the perfect son. So maybe we’re good for each other.”

Varian sighed, wrapping one arm around the blonde’s shoulders and reeling him in close. “You know you mean the world to me. And with your mother gone…I don’t know what I’d do if anything were ever to happen to you. If the truth ever came out…it kills me, thinking that I might not be able to keep you safe. That even with all the power that I have as High King, that no matter how many laws I pass, I may not be able to stop them from taking you to one of those _hellholes._ That I might never find you again…”

Anduin sighed, curling in close against his father’s side. “I know.” And it was a horrific thought. Though his father’s first act as King had been to outlaw the brothels they hadn’t disappeared, just gone underground.  For every one of them uprooted by SI:7 and other authorities three more popped up in their place, as if they were simply the heads of some monstrous unseen hydra. Though he’d never specifically been told what conditions in such places were like Anduin had overheard enough conversations between his father and the Spymaster to have put together a good enough idea to know it was a life of squalor and misery.

“Humans are capable of such barbarity, and we’re civilized compared to Orcs. What do you think he’d do if he were ever were to discover what you are?”

Nothing, aside from treat him with more respect than he’d ever seen an Omega afforded. Because to his people, what Anduin was was a person, not an object. And a person to be valued at that. But bringing up this fact would only have complicated matters even further and Anduin didn’t want to set his father off again so soon.

“Promise me you’ll stay away from him, Anduin. If not for your safety than for my peace of mind. I don’t mean to treat you as if you can’t make your own decisions, but I’m not bluffing either. I don’t want to force you to withdraw from the Argent Crusade because I know how happy it makes you being outside of Elwynn, seeing the world, but if I catch you anywhere near him again…”

“You won’t. I promise.” It didn’t feel good to lie to his father, just as it hadn’t felt good to lie to Garrosh about once more bringing the matter of his suspicions to the Highlord, but he’d suffered enough under his disguise and this was his only chance to remove the varnish once and for all. Anduin would not stand by and just let it slip through his fingers. At least, not completely. “I’m not sure if you noticed I left early from tonight’s games?”

“I did.” Varian said, then added sourly “Hellscream followed you.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard about the murders?”

The King stilled, voice dropping to a growl. “What murders?”

“There’s a reason that the match was called. That one of the valiants didn’t appear. And it’s not the first time, it’s the fourth. All four of them were quickly found dead, though how they died in the first three cases were unclear. All four were slated to do battle with the Black Knight.” Anduin said. “I’ve my suspicions about that man and Highlord Fordring has finally granted me permission to handle getting to the bottom of the matter. I don’t doubt that I’ll be taken from the Tournament Grounds by the case, at least for a little while.  You won’t have to worry about me coming into further contact with the Overlord.”

For a drawn-out moment Varian stared at him, plainly wrestling with the prospect of Anduin being put in a position of potential dangers, before finally seeming to come to the conclusion that it was worth it to have him away from Garrosh. Varian sighed. “Just be careful.”

Anduin looked up at him in surprise. “You’re letting me run off into what could well be a Scourge trap?”

His father grimaced. “I’m trying to demonstrate that I trust you to look after yourself.” He said. “Don’t sabotage that by pointing out such things.”

The blonde smiled and rested his head on his father’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of spice and armor polish. “Thank you, father.”

“I’ll still be keeping an eye on you while you are here.” His father warned. Anduin had seen that coming, admittedly.  Varian squeezed him gently once more before getting to his feet. “Get to sleep. You’ll need your rest if you’re going to be hunting down a killer.”

“Goodnight, father.” Anduin said.

“Goodnight.” The King echoed, stepping back out into the cold.

Anduin stripped off his plate and set it aside before crawling once more beneath the sheets and curling up to rest.

He only got a few hours of sleep before Wyall came to rouse him and, after a light breakfast of fruit and tea the young Paladin swiftly strapped on his armor and exited his tent. Heading out of the Alliance encampment and around the length of the grounds to the far side in order to prevent anyone from catching on to where he was headed. Reaching the Horde Faction tent half an hour later and ducking inside with much less hesitance than he had the night before and finding Garrosh waiting for him.

“Sleep in, Kil’azi?” he grunted as Anduin trotted over to the table, strewn with what the Prince assumed could pass as a typical Horde breakfast; heavy on meat. One of the Trolls nearby peered at him over a flagon as he was told to “sit down” in a tone which brokered no argument. Once he had, the Overlord followed up with a second order of “eat” and set a platted fish in front of him.

“Thank you, really, but I’ve already eaten. Fruit is plenty for me in the morning.”

“A proper breakfast, Wrynn.” He pushed the platter closer insistently. “Try not to mutilate its face too badly.”

Turning a faint shade of red at the memory of how torn up the Dragonfin Angelfish had been after he’d tried to show him what ‘fish cheeks’ were, Anduin picked up his knife and fork and began peeling off the blackened skin. The flesh beneath was white and firm and well cooked, still warm and carrying an attractive wood smoked flavor.

“This is delicious.” He said. “Though a bit too much for me to eat this early. My stomach tends to be rather delicate in the mornings.”

Garrosh grunted, watching him continuing to pick at the partly eaten fish. “Fruit, then, is all you’ll have?”

“Light things. Oats and honey I can take as well.”

“And to drink?”

“Water. Or tea.”

“Elf food.” He grumbled, making Anduin grin. “Until what time?”

“Noon, about.” Anduin said. “From that point I can take anything, at least in proportion, provided there isn’t too much spice.”

“So you like things bland?” apparently the prospect was a horrifying one.

“If by ‘bland’ you mean ‘not seasoned with Aunt Jaina’s home grown magically modified peppers which are hot enough to strip the varnish off of plate armor’,” he stated primly, setting down his fork, “then yes.”

The Troll which had been staring earlier cackled. One of the others smacked him. Garrosh glowered at both until they looked away.

“You’ve spoken with the old Paladin, then?”

Anduin nodded, forcing his expression to remain neutral enough as to be passable. “And I’ve been given full authority to act in the capacity of a legal officer of the Crusade.”

“And you have information that I need to know?”

“A bit.” He said. “Tell me, Overlord, how would you feel about an adventure?”

“With you at the helm, Kil’azi?” Garrosh snorted. “Afraid for my life.”

“Hey! The last plan that I came up with worked, didn’t it!”

“By ‘the last plan I came up with’ you’re referencing flying one of those twisted bird creatures through the rib cage of a Frostwyrm and riding on its back as it fell out of the sky?”

“And it worked.” Anduin insisted stubbornly. “We got the fake phylactery.”

“Purely through a miracle.”

“We’re not going anywhere dangerous. At least, not to a member of the Horde.” Anduin said. “The Black Knight first appeared a few days after the Tournament began; representing no particular nation, or so he claimed, but he wanted to fight and so the Highlord allowed it. **I** suspect he’s an agent of the Lich King sent to kill the champions who might become a threat before they could. All four of the victims were slated to face him, none of them showed up in the ring and all four were found dead the same night as they were scheduled to duel.  According to his story, which mind you I don’t believe, he hails from Silverpine Forest.”

“So that’s why you need me to come along.” Garrosh said. “You need a Horde escort because you don’t want to have to deal with the Banshee Queen.”

“I’ve heard that she tends to be unreasonable,” Anduin said, “so yes. Avoiding the ‘proper’ channels would be preferable but that’s not the main reason I’d be appreciative of your company.”

Golden eyes sized him up. “Oh?”

“I don’t know if they expect that someone is going to come poking around; what sort of traps they might have set. I need someone I can trust to watch my back and everyone else who fits that description would be too concerned with stopping me to be of much use.”

The massive Orc shifted and folded his arms across his chest, the chair beneath him creaking as the weight atop it was redistributed. In a voice low enough that he wouldn’t be overheard, he said “Omega shouldn’t be putting themselves in the line of fire.”

“Well, you picked a freak of nature.”

“What your father did to confuse you this much wasn’t natural,” though he could understand why. “You may well be a freak, Wrynn, but it’s not of nature.”

Anduin snickered and propped his chin up on his hand. “What a way with words you have.”

“And Alphas aren’t the ones who choose.”

“Either way,” he pressed, “we are a thing, aren’t we? Of some sort? All evidence suggests that we’ve imprinted on each other.”

“Your evidence is bad.”

“Is my hearing bad too, Overlord, because I distinctly remember hearing you call me ‘yours’ last night.” Anduin simpered, a playful smirk on his face. “We’ll overlook my issues with the objectification inherent in that phrasing for the time being.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The smell of blood at the scene went to your head!”

“Oh, of course. Forgive my foolish assumption.” He snickered.

Garrosh grunted and opted to change the subject. “Just where are we headed?”

“The Valgan Family plot, an abandoned farmstead on the shore of Lordamere Lake.” Anduin told him.

“Any plans on how we’ll be getting there?”

The young Paladin blinked. “Actually, I was hopping you’d have a better idea than I would.”

Garrosh shook his head and dropped his voice again. “Leave it to an Omega to need an Alpha to do the heavy lifting.”

Anduin, in response, stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.

“Put that a way unless you want a lesson in the proper way to use it.”

The little minx didn’t appear threatened at all, his empyrean eyes gleaming. “Is that meant as a deterrent, Overlord?”

“Yes.” No. Absolutely not. By all means, give him the excuse he needed.

“Have things your way.” Anduin made an exaggerated point of tracing the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. Well aware of the close attention Garrosh paid the motion.

“We’ll have to rely on _Mages_ to get to Tirisfall; one of their damned portals will take us right to the border and from there we’ll use flying mounts to get to this farm of yours.”

The legs of their chairs scrapped against the fur lined floor as they pushed away from the table. “One more thing I should probably make you aware of,” Anduin said as he stood up. “I caught it from father last night and if he sees us together again, I’m going to be sent back to Stormwind.”

“’Caught it’ from him?” Garrosh repeated in a dangerous growl. “Are you injured?” Anduin shook his head, a bit too quickly, and couldn’t quite stop a subconscious effort to hide his afflicted wrist in time. Garrosh’s size was deceptive; he was fast and caught hold of his arm before Anduin could evade. Pinning it within sight and pulling away the armor.

“He doesn’t know his own strength.” Anduin knew that he’d said as much before. Garrosh didn’t seem at all comforted by the assertion, golden eyes burning with ferocious anger at the sight of the livid purple bruises impressed into his pale skin. “My father didn’t mean to hurt me. He let go right away. And nothing was broken.”

“If something had been,” the Orc snarled, “I’d kill him! Rules be damned!” Cradling his wrist in one gigantic hand, he touched the bruised flesh with an almost unbelievable delicacy. “How many times has this happened?”

“I don’t-.”

“I know this isn’t the first time. You’d admitted as much! How many times, Anduin!”

The Prince sighed, pulling his wrist away. Though it was clear he didn’t want to, Garrosh let him. “A few times.” He admitted. “But he doesn’t mean to hurt me. He’s a warrior-.”

“So am I, Kil’azi. And I would never do this. Not to you. ‘Warrior’ is no excuse. He should be capable of enough control to be able to direct his rage at something that isn’t a third his size!”

“He doesn’t mean to.”

“An Alpha wouldn’t need to ‘mean to’ to accidentally kill you. A moment’s loss control at the _wrong_ moment would be all it would take.” Anduin looked away, concentrating his attention on replacing his gauntlet. When it became clear he had no want to continue engaging with the subject the Orc changed the topic again. “We’ll leave separately to avoid being seen together. I’ll see you at the stables. We’ll fly to Dalaran from there and make use of the Knife Ears in the Sunreaver Sanctuary.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Anduin said. “So…who leaves first?”

“Does it matter?”

Snickering, the Prince turned and trotted away towards the flap of the tent. Peering cautiously around to ensure no one of concern was looking in his direction, he emerged out into the icy morning air and started back in the direction that he’d come. Circling around the whole of the Tournament Grounds again before making his way into the stables.

Mounts of all sorts filled the enclosed space, far warmer than the streets outside and scattered with long strands of sweet-smelling hay. The exotic myriad of beasts had been divided according to the Faction to which their riders belonged; Horde on one side and Alliance on the other, the only intermingling being in the section marked with the sunburst of the Crusade. Reverence knickered at him from his stall and tossed his mane. Smiling, Anduin paused for a moment to pat the horse’s snout before continuing on. Stepping over the threshold into the section devoted to housing flying mounts the younger Paladin headed towards the stall containing the Hippogriff which he’d been assigned. Opening the stall and leading the beast out into the aisle.

Garrosh walked in a moment later and removed a wyvern from its stall. “How did you end up with the glaring bird?”

“Chance.” Anduin shrugged. “And he doesn’t glare at everyone, Overlord. You just offended him. Hippogriffs, unlike Griffons, tend to hold grudges.” Under his breath, the Prince muttered “small surprise they get along so well with Night Elves.”

“Bad experience with some of your allies, Kil’azi?”

For a moment Anduin almost look traumatized. “I’ve met Tyrande.”

Garrosh snorted. “Flying out of Icecrown is going to be dangerous; we stick together, do you understand me?”

“We don’t need to fly out of Icecrown. I came prepared.” Anduin, smirking triumphantly, pulled out a pair of polished blue and white stones. He held one of them up. “Aunt Jaina gave me this one before I left a few days ago. It’ll take us straight to Dalaran. And this one,” he held up the other, “will take us back to the main tent of the Argent Crusade. No need to dodge Frostwyrms. At least not today, as I can’t say with certainty that we’ll always be able to avoid flying.”

Garrosh made an annoyed noise. “Magic.” He spat.

“I’m not a terrible fan of the Arcane either, but it’s something of a necessary evil and, in many ways, it does make life easier.”

“Until it rips your world apart, draws in the Burning Legion like a moth to flame and fundamentally destroys your culture.” The Orc spat onto the ice. “But sure, ‘necessary evil’.”

Anduin winced. “I’m…sorry.”

Garrosh shook his head, still glaring at the hearth stones he was holding. “I’m just glad you’re not a Mage. A Human I can handle.  A Wrynn I can tolerate. But one of those fiends?” he spat again.

“Well, Holy Magic is far more likely to send Demons running rather than draw them in so we can take comfort in that.” The Prince’s nervous laugh was aimed at dispelling some of the tension which had stolen over them. Anduin wasn’t sure how effective it was. “Garrosh,” it was the first time he’d actually used the Alpha’s name and by consequence the word was slightly hesitant. Blue eyes keeping a careful gauge of his reaction; there were no discernible warning signs so Anduin continued “if you’d prefer we fly, despite the danger, we can.”

“And have you and that damned bird of yours eaten by one of Arthas’ pet lizards?” the Orc stepped forward with the Wyvern’s reigns in his grip and reaching out for the hand in which Anduin held the Dalaran stone. Engulfing it completely in his much larger one. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Anduin nodded and turned the polished palm sized stone three times in his hand, feeling it heat up a split second before there was a familiar tug from just behind his naval. A whirl of oppressive violet energy overwhelmed his senses and then, between one blink and the next, the rough wood and loose hay of the Tournament Grounds’ stables had been replaced with the familiar tones of beige and violet making up Dalaran. Anduin couldn’t help but take a moment to reflect on how intensely grateful he was that Jaina had programmed the stone she’d gifted to him-one of two, the other leading to Theramore-to sync to Krasus’ Landing rather than _A Hero’s Welcome_. Garrosh’s sudden appearance in the middle of the Silver Enclave would have been cause for uproar among the Silver Covenant and there was no way that he could have prevented word of it from reaching his father’s ears.

And then he’d find himself locked up tight in Stormwind Keep, far away from the glittering snow and northern lights of Northrend. Far away from his Alpha.

The thought of being taken away, potentially forever, made something inside of him clench so hard it almost broke. Anduin suddenly felt winded. Stumbling left into the wall of plate and muscle that was Garrosh. Immediately the feeling eased but didn’t go away entirely. His Omega urging him to press closer. Cling to him and cover himself in the protection of his scent so that his claim, and Anduin’s on him in turn, couldn’t be ignored because only then would that horrible hollow sensation in his gut worse than any hunger could ever be go away.

He wanted to, desperately, but he couldn’t afford for his father to catch even the faintest trace of Garrosh on his person so, though it was the very opposite of his deepest desire, Anduin withdrew from the Orc’s steadying hand. Flashing a small, brief smile before turning to his mount. “I take it that we’re headed to the Sunreaver Sanctuary, Overlord?”

“It’s the only place in this city where we can be certain your father won’t hear of matters.” Garrosh said. “The Knife Ears don’t allow Alliance into the area, the same as yours don’t let in the Horde, but your Argent armor should convince them otherwise.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Anduin asked. “What do I do then?”

The even stare of golden eyes made it plain the Orc considered the answer to be obvious. “You tell them that you’re with me.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“I beat them with the blunt end of my axe until they can’t protest anymore.” Garrosh pulled himself up into the saddle. “I’ll go ahead so that we’re not seen together. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

The wyvern took off with the harsh flap of leathered wings and quickly disappeared over the rooftops. Anduin patiently waited five minutes before mounting the Argent Hippogriff at his side and following suit, navigating over the gleaming purple rooftops and touching back down on the cobbled stones outside the entrance of the Sunreaver Sanctuary.

The Blood Elves positioned on the guard eyed him sharply but said nothing, likely due to the massive glaring Orc stood with his arms crossed in plain view. Anduin offered them an apologetic smile and nudged his mount forward.

The Hippogriff hissed at Garrosh as the Paladin reached him and dismounted, taking the reins. “I didn’t keep you, did I?”

The Overlord snorted. “For you, Kil’azi, I’d wait a lot longer than five minutes even if my only company were these insufferable Knife Ears.” Though it was evident from the abrupt stiffening of the Mages nearby they didn’t appreciate being referred to as ‘insufferable’ none of them dared turn around and glare. “Come on. I’ve got one of these damnable Mages to agree to send us to Silverpine.”

Well, if one thing could certainly be said about the Alpha it would be that he didn’t waste time. “I’m right behind you.” Anduin promised, leading his mount with him as he followed the Orc through a nearby doorway.

“Is this _really_ necessary, Overlord?” the Blood Elf in question, a man with a long mane of ebony hair and a sumptuous red and golden robe rumpled in the front in such a way which suggested he’d recently been lifted by the collar complained the moment they stepped through the door. Fel green eyes found Anduin and his pinched expression tinted with open disgust. “And on top of demanding Portals to strange places, interrupting my work and having the audacity to treat me like one of those dolls used by those filthy Trolls in their vile rituals you bring a _Human pig_ here!”

“I’m here as a member of the Argent Crusade, not as a member of the Alliance, so please don’t feel threatened by my presence.” Anduin’s effort to diffuse the tension backfired quite spectacularly because the Mage puffed up like an angry garden snake and rounded on him.

“ _Threatened_ by you?” He spat. “All the same! Every last one of you heathen barbarians! And don’t think I don’t recognize who you are, ‘Prince’ Wrynn! Tell me, does your rabid mutt of a father know you’re here playing tea party with Garrosh Hellscream?”

Anduin opened his mouth to respond, but quickly dispensed with his words in favor of a reprimanding cry of “Garrosh!” when the Orc’s giant paw came down and lifted the squirming Elf off the floor by the scruff.

“If you want to keep your tongue, Knife Ears, you’re not going to say another word to him.” He snarled, low and ferocious. “And if you want all of your limbs to stay where they currently are, you’re not going to mention seeing him with me to _anyone. **Ever**_. Am I understood?”

Ears pinned back in much the same manner as a terrified cat, the Blood Elf nodded. Or, at least, attempted to nod though the result was to debatable success as the Mag’har was still roughly gripping the back of his neck.

“Good.” Garrosh dropped the man unceremoniously onto the hard tile floor. Both Warrior and Paladin looked on, one impassively and the other quite mortified and very red in the face, as the suddenly very pale Mage scrambled back onto his feet.

Anduin doubted he’d ever see a portal spell cast that quickly again. “There, a portal to Silverpine! Now take it and leave me be!” The Blood Elf spat, muttering under his breath what sounded like “I hope you get eaten by wolves.”

Garrosh seemed to have heard much the same thing, because he turned on the Elf again but Anduin quickly stepped forward. One hand once more finding a light grip on the Orc’s large plate clad wrist and the other landing on his chest. “We can’t leave a portal open for sustained periods or we risk it posing a danger. Not only that, but we are in something of a race against the clock, Overlord.” He said. “I’d rather the number didn’t rise to five.”

Growling once more at the Mage Garrosh seemed to briefly weigh inviting Anduin through the portal first against ensuring the other side was safe before he emitted a harsh huff and stepped through the swirling gate. After sending a last apologetic glance at the Blood Elf, and receiving another baleful glare in return, Anduin stepped through the portal as well.

Silverpine Forest was a much darker, much grimmer place than Elwynn. Green leaves and dappled sunlight replaced by thick morose cloud cover and towering trees clad in silver needles. It was more similar, he couldn’t help but think, to Duskwood. With any luck it wouldn’t likewise be infested with the undead. Though, admittedly, Anduin had come to be rather used to glassy eyes and rotting flesh discovering the area was instead overtaken by rats the size of garden sheds would be a nice change of pace.

“Rats the size of garden sheds?” Garrosh repeated, shooting him the side eye.

Anduin turned pink. “Um, I didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

“Humans.”  The Mag’har didn’t sound quite as exasperated as the Paladin had no doubt he would have had he been dealing with anyone else; it was more than enough to make him smile. “Where are we going, Kil’azi? Do you know where, exactly, we’re supposed to find this ‘farm’?”

“The Valgan stead, to my knowledge, is ‘on the shores of Lake Lordamere’.” Anduin peered through the canopy overhead at the steely cloud choked sky. “There can’t be too many farms on the shores of that lake. I’m sure we’ll find it eventually.” Noting the golden eyes on him the Prince chirped “what?”

“Your father actually expects you to take his place as a military leader?”

“Under normal circumstance I’d have a more solid plan, built on strong foundations of intel from both SI:7 and the 7th Legion.” Anduin said. “But at the moment I’m flying by the seat of my pants.”

“If you can fly with your pants why do you need that thing?” Garrosh waved a hand in the hippogriff’s direction, eliciting yet another offended hiss.

“Um…it’s a saying, Overlord.” Note to self: idioms don’t translate well. Anduin cleared his throat in an effort to clear the awkward tension and swung himself back into the saddle. “Our first order of business should be to get above the tree line and determine exactly where in Silverpine we are. Light willing, we’ll find all the information that we’ll need at the Valgan Stead and this can be resolved in a handful of hours.”

“Surely you don’t expect things will be that simple.”

“No.” Anduin sighed, gripping the reigns. “But I can hope.”

From the grunt he received in response it was rather plain the Overlord didn’t think that ‘hope’ in that regard was worth much. Anduin had to lean forward against the neck of his mount in order to avoid being unseated by one of the close grown branches as they rose above the canopy. Silvery pines stretched below them in all directions, grown so close together that the forest floor wasn’t visible beyond the carved paths of paved roads which banked and wove through the area like dusted serpents. In the distance rose the dark imposing form of the Greymane Wall.

“I’ve always wondered what’s behind there.” Anduin called over the rushing wind. “I mean, I do know. Vaguely. From stories and history. Gilneas: one of the seven Human Kingdoms. One of the few left standing. It was a part of the original Alliance some twenty or so years ago but left after King Greymane refused to put money towards…” catching himself abruptly Anduin trailed off, blue eyes wide.

“Towards the camps.” Garrosh finished for him, a growl in his voice. Anduin flinched. “Kil’azi-.”

“What my race did to your people was barbaric. I don’t care if we’re enemies. If yours had wrought indescribable destruction. If it could still be argued that the Orcs were under the power of the Burning Legion. It wasn’t right to treat you like animals. Worse than animals.” He shook his head. “Light, why am I surprised when we treat our own the way we do?  It was Lordaeron which was largely responsible but Stormwind isn’t innocent. We helped to fund it. And that’s knowledge that I have to live with. I shouldn’t have brought it up, I’m sorry.”

For a brief moment Garrosh seemed to consider reaching out to comfort him before discarding the idea, largely due to the fact that the wing spans of their mounts against the length of his arm would have reduced the matter to a doomed endeavor. He probably would have been just as awkward about the effort as his father tended to be, and the thought of that alone was enough to make Anduin smile.

Spying the crescent shaped island in the center of the lake the Prince redirected his attention downwards to the shore below. Scanning the pale sand and the rotting structures they passed over until they came upon one which seemed right.  Pointing at it to draw his companion’s attention. “There!” He called, pulling on the reigns and directing his mount into an abrupt descent. “Down there!”

The Wyvern soon fell in behind him and alighted on the sand with a soft thud a moment later. Garrosh dismounting and sizing up the farmstead. Seizing Anduin by the straps as he attempted to walk past him.

“Not so fast, Wrynn. That house could be filled with enemies just lying in weight for an overly curious Argent like you to come poking around. And even if it’s empty, there could be traps from top to bottom. You can’t just walk in!”

Anduin blinked, seemed to take proper stock of the situation and then nodded. Drawing Fearbreaker from where it hung on his back. “You’re right. I shouldn’t allow myself to be fooled into a sense of security simply because we’re so far away from Northrend.” He said, looking up at the much larger Orc with earnest blue eyes. “Shall we?”

“Go ahead, Kil’azi. I’ll watch your back.”

The Human’s thin lips twitched upwards into a small smile. “My back or my ass?”

The Overlord grunted, hefting Gorehowl over one shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive.” As if to emphasize his point his golden eyes fell below Anduin’s belt. In spite of his blush the Prince made a point of sashaying his hips far more than was necessary as he approached the door, barely hanging off its hinges, before abruptly becoming serious as he crossed the threshold.

The bottom floor was dark and quiet, the air cold and thick with the dust which lay undisturbed inches thick across the floor. Broken furniture and a few tarnished belongings were scattered about in disarray. The smell of rotting wood was nearly overpowering, strong enough to make his eyes water.

“Bloody hell, it’s dark in here.” Anduin kept his voice hushed in case something yet lurked on the floor above. “There’s not a chance in hell we’ll be able to find anything that might have been left here without a light. Hold on.” The Prince reached for his connection with the Light but then paused and looked over at Garrosh. “You may want to cover your eyes a moment. I don’t want to accidentally blind you.”

“Blind me?” he repeated. “What do you intend to do?”

“Use a spell which is normally reserved for the purpose of disorienting enemies. The initial flash is what you want to look away from.” Once assured that his companion had done as he’d asked and closed his eyes, though a part of him suspected this had simply been done to humor him, Anduin reached again for the Light and recited the proper spell. The room was filled with a bright white flash, dimming a moment later to a tolerable golden glow as the light coalesced near the ceiling. “Alright. It’s safe to look.”

The first thing Garrosh did upon opening his eyes was shoot the little orb bobbing innocently overhead a suspicious glare before he looked at Anduin. “Just what are we looking for, exactly?”

“I’m not sure.” The Prince confessed. “Something which will prove, definitively, that the Black Knight isn’t whom he claims.”

“So anything and everything.” The Overlord huffed. “Something tells me we’ll be here for a while.”

“Probably.” Anduin stepped forward. “We should get started.”

Dust. Chair legs. A heavy candle holder or something of the sort; Anduin wasn’t really sure what with all the rust that it was covered in.  Nothing that could help them prove anything on either floor. And then, just as he was beginning to give up hope, Garrosh edged through the nearly too small door of the room that he was in and thrust a crumbling book into his hands.

“I can speak Common but I can’t read it.” He said. “I don’t know what that book is but it seemed more likely to have the answers that we’re here for than the pulverized vase pieces littering the floor.”

The cover was made of leather, wrinkled and faded to the point that any lettering which might have been on the cover was long unreadable. Anduin suspected that it may, at some point, have spent a sustained period sitting in a shallow puddle though it had since dried out. Turning it cautiously in his hands, the Prince opened it. Blue eyes scanning the faded writing etched onto yellow pages so thin and dry that he feared touching them too harshly lest they disintegrate.

Garrosh waited patiently beside him as he read. Expression becoming more and more concerned before, finally, he sighed and closed the book. “You found it.” He said. “This is proof that we’ve been lied to. Though it doesn’t explain everything.”

“What is it?”

“A journal. This is _definitely_ the Valgan Stead, their family name is mentioned multiple times, but none of the children spoken of were old enough to have completed Knight’s training. If they even survived the Plague at all.” Carefully, so that it didn’t fall apart in his hands, Anduin slipped the journal into his pack. “It proves we’re on the right track but does little more. I think it best, at this point, that we sit on the matter until we have enough to act on. There’s no need to risk tipping him off before then.”

The Overlord folded his arms. “Alright, then. Care to inform me how you intend for us to move forward with this?”

“I know of a ritual which we can use to discern the truth of what happened, and from there know what evidence to look for. I learned about it during my time at the Exodar.” He said, ignoring the Orc’s grumbling. “But we’ll have to make a stop by the Crystalsong Forest before returning to the Tournament Grounds because I need a focus which can only be found there.”

“And that would be?” Garrosh asked.

“A Seer’s Crystal.” Anduin said. “We should be able to find one on the Unbound Spirits haunting the Night Elven ruins in the Forlorn Woods.”

“Tree rats.” The Overlord snarled, then sighed. “At least I’ll get to kill something vaguely Alliance shaped on this little errand of yours.”

The Omega couldn’t help but smile, drawing the Dalaran Hearthstone from within his armor. “Let’s go collect our mounts.” He said. “The stones almost recharged.”


	9. The Seer's Crystal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kind of long chapter; hope that you enjoyed. I've been looking over past chapters and have realized that i missed a lot in my first editing before posting and I'm sure i missed a lot in this chapter too lol (geuss this is why i shouldnt post at midnight but oh well i suppose); I'm going to make a deep pass at fixing spelling and adding in words which should be in sentences but decided to leave and go who knows where between finishing this fic and starting its sequel, the working title of which is currently The Wolf and the Amaranth but may change. I'm not sure if that will make it look like this fic is updating despite being already at 16 out of 16 chapters but if that does end up happening once we get to that point the editing is the reason for that.

Had he attempted to claim that he wasn’t relieved to be leaving the dark and dour Silverpine Forest behind, despite it being comparatively warmer than anywhere on Northrend, Anduin would have been lying. Being so close to Tirisfall Glades had been…unsettling, deeply, to him in a way which even Icecrown couldn’t quite manage to match. Almost as if there was something very dark and very old buried beneath the ground. And not very deep. Something connected, intrinsically, to the Shadow.

The very thought of it was enough to make his skin crawl and his Omega cower. Briefly, before pushing the thought away as being most unwise, Anduin had considered drawing the Overlord into one of the City of Magic’s many alleyways and seeking a measure of physical comfort which he doubted the Orc would be unwilling to give him. As tempting as the idea of finding himself once more curled against the broad tattooed chest of his Alpha-wait, _his_ Alpha?-preferably without their cold metal plate and perhaps even their leathers between them, the Prince knew that using a scent wash again so soon while his father was already in a state of alert would raise too much suspicion that he didn’t want to deal with. And he also knew that they didn’t have the time for any dalliances no matter how much he might have wished to if they were going to put a proper stop to the Black Knight before he killed again.

“Need something?”

Anduin started slightly, realizing his gaze had lingered too long on his companion and quickly looking away. “No. No, I was just…thinking.”

The Orc grunted around a smirk. “Were you?”

“I was.”

“About what?”

“Nothing of import.” The Prince said quickly, heat rising on his face. Refusing to meet the Overlord’s gaze with his own. “Just…desires. Things it would be irresponsible for me to act on even if we weren’t on a time schedule. I’m the Crown Prince of the Alliance. Will one day take my father’s place as High King. I’m the last of the Wrynn line. If it were to ever come out that I’m…what I am we’d be destroyed.” He shook his head. “That’s a lot of responsibility to have to bear.”

“But you want to.”

Wide blue eyes finally turned to him again. “I’d give anything not to have to live like this. If I could, if it was just me, if I didn’t have these responsibilities then to hell with the laws and with traditions and with the opinions of absolutely everybody else. I’d miss Stormwind, I’d miss my father, but…if you’d have me in Orgrimmar, Overlord, then I’d go. I’d go and I wouldn’t look back. But I’m not at liberty to be that selfish.”

“I think you’ve done enough for others at this point, Kil’azi, that no one would blink if you cashed in all your chips at once.”

Anduin’s smiled was taut and looked pained. “No one has enough chips to make a move like that forgivable.”

From his perch atop the armored Wyvern Garrosh seemed to size him up. “Why are you so intent on giving of yourself until you’re miserable? It’s unnatural.”

“I was called by the Light to give to others.” Anduin said. “I won’t defy my purpose for my own benefit.”

“Maybe now you’re being called for something else.” Garrosh said. “I don’t believe in your Human hocus pocus the way the Tauren and the Knife Ears seem to but my people have our own beliefs on what a doubled sided imprinting means. It doesn’t just happen, Anduin.”

“Funny you’d suddenly admit that whatever’s between us might be that now.” Another thin smile. “But we don’t know that’s what this is. Not really. Imprinting, I mean.”

“We also don’t know if the sky is really blue or if we’re all just seeing things.” He said. “In Garadar we have a saying: looks like an Elekk, sounds like an Elekk.”

“Then it’s probably an Elekk?” Anduin ventured.

“Well, Kil’azi, it certainly isn’t a duck.”

The Prince snickered. “I suppose not.” He said, then sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is imprinting, like by now we’ve both suggested. Maybe I’m meant for the Horde and not the Alliance. If that’s the case, then there will come a time when I know. When I can no longer abide where I am.  When that day comes, I suppose you’ll have to get used to having me around full stop.”

“Keeping you out of life-threatening danger will doubtlessly never fail to be interesting.” The Orc said. “Just don’t keep me waiting forever.”

“Surely you wouldn’t wait forever. For me.”

“I already told you that my people have beliefs about this sort of thing. What it means.” For a moment the Overlord almost looked uncomfortable. “Short of being tainted by something, swayed by some outside force, there’s no moving on from that. And I’d never turn to a dark power after what my father did to curse our people.”

“Added pressure,” the Paladin sounded suddenly hysterical, “marvelous!”

“If you were to choose to do something for yourself, even just once, your life would become infinitely easier.” He said. “No more concerns about the people who would use you for their pleasure should they ever learn the truth of what you are. No more ties to your father’s throne. And I’d make certain that you’d want for nothing. An Alpha’s highest privilege is an Omega to care for.”

Briefly, Anduin allowed himself to invasion that life. A life without nobles and duties and stifling refinement. A life far from all he’d ever known and everyone he’d ever cared for growing up as the life mate of his father’s arch nemesis. It was tempting. Far more so than it should have been. And as he pushed the thought of it away guilt flooded him. Guilt over wanting such a thing, even for a moment. Guilt over not being able to bring himself to leave it all behind for the Alpha before him and yet likewise being unable to pull himself away. To stop thinking of him. “Often times, Overlord, there is a difference between what is right and what is easy.”

“But not always.”

Anduin heaved a heavy sigh. “No,” he said, “not always. The Forlorn Woods are below and to the East of here. We’ll have to be careful while we’re out there; on top of Night Elven spirits we’ll have to keep a close eye out of the Blue Dragonflight. Malygos’ forces have been notably active in this region of late.

The Overlord made a barely interested sound. “I don’t know about you, Anduin, but I’m not afraid of Dragons.” The blonde looked suddenly anemic. The Orc tilted his head and filed the information away to ask about later, aware the Omega likely wouldn’t have answered had he done so at that moment. “And there’s no need for your concern either way. If one of the blue lizards do show up, I’ll protect you.”

“I’d appreciate whatever assistance you’d be willing to lend me in the fight,” Anduin said delicately, readjusting his grip on the hippogriff’s reigns. “But I won’t stand by and allow myself to be defended. If I’m able to fight beside you, I intend to do so.”

“Wrynn-.”

“Need I remind you that you picked a freak, of nature or not.” Anduin cut in. “I’ve grown up an Alpha. And second gender aside I am not helpless. I appreciate that you’d want to protect me, but I wont stand by in a battle where I can be of aid.”

He figured that that would be the case, given what he’d seen during the Nerubian ambush in the Dragonblight; even forced to stand back behind the front lines Anduin had still managed to use his Holy Magic to make a hammer out of light and kill a couple of the Scourge. That much he was fine with, something helpless held no attraction for him and Garrosh would have expected nothing less than fire from a Wrynn, but a conversation on the matter would definitely need to be had prior to him being taken to Garadar to meet his clan.

On second thought maybe taking him at all wouldn’t be the wisest decision. Though the sabotage wouldn’t be purposeful, Anduin would more than likely accidentally lead to him being viewed as the single most incompetent Alpha to ever live simply by being himself.

Naturally the Overlord had managed to land himself the only Royal that _didn’t_ like the idea of being waited on hand and foot.

“The flight shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He said. “Since we’re not going to be flying over the city…we don’t have to worry about taking off at different times.” He worried the reigns between his fingers and shot him a brief glance. “In fact, I think it’s best we stick together. As closely as possible. There aren’t any Scourge in the area, really, but the fauna of the forest, the Night Elven spirits we’re going to be releasing and even the forest itself can be a bit…dangerous.”

“Releasing?” Garrosh repeated. “I certainly hope that you mean ‘releasing by force’, Kil’azi, because I was really looking forward to getting a chance to beat on something!”

“I don’t have the reagents or training necessary to make a censure which could move them on through more peaceful means, Overlord. So yes. Regrettably, moving them on by force is the only choice we’ll have as I doubt the Unbound Seers will be overly willing to hand over any crystals that they might have.” Anduin said. “It isn’t gentle but it’s better they not be left trapped here. By all means, enjoy yourself while we’re there.”

The Orc grunted, prodding his mount a few steps closer to the edge. “I intend to.”

With the harsh rustle and flap of wings the pair lifted off from Krasus’ Landing and soared away from where the City of Magic hung in the frigid sky. Garrosh following Anduin and the Hippogriff he rode as he guided it into a smooth descent down and towards the east.  Towards the hollow, hovering crystal trees with their faint violet glow and ambient ringing. The ground was a darker purple color, differently faceted and slick to stand on, like ice. The young Paladin cautiously dismounted, the Orc and Wyvern landing with a heavy whump nearby.

Unsettled by the charge of energy which crackled and hissed across his skin, raising fine hairs and goosebumps along his arms, Anduin drew Fearbreaker down from his back and scanned their surroundings. Having trouble making out anything against the backdrop of glowing violet which was nearby enough to blind and painful to look at for too long.

Anduin could tell, without having to look directly at him, that Garrosh was doing the same. “It’ll get dark in another few hours.” He said, golden eyes resting heavy on his back. “Where are these ghost elves of yours?”

“They’re around here somewhere.” Anduin took a first cautious step forward, and then another. Walking deeper into the crystalized trees. “The real question is whether we’ll find them or they’ll find us. Personally, I prefer the first option as, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be ambushed today.”

The Orc didn’t appear deterred by the concept. “Ambusher or ambushed, a true Warrior is more than capable of coming out of it alive. Your father would likely have cause for concern if he found himself in this situation, but its of no concern to me.” Still, Garrosh made a point of pulling Anduin back behind him. Positioning the Human where his much smaller body would be obscured almost entirely from the reach of any hidden snipers by his own. “Keep your eyes peeled and don’t neglect to look up. The tree rats are able enough climbers that firing at us from above or dropping down on top of us wouldn’t be out of the question.”

Admittedly, Anduin hadn’t considered that possibility prior to it being mentioned. Now that it had been the Paladin had trouble pulling his gaze away from the branches overhead. Ultimately, though, it wasn’t arrows raining down on them from above that announced the presence of the Unbound Spirits but rather a spectral Nightsaber mounted sentinel who came bounding out of the shadows with a thunderous roar.

Anduin’s immediate reaction was one of surprise and, by the time he’d recovered a moment later, Garrosh had already let out a roar of his own and rushed forward. Gorehowl a series of pale flashes through the gloom as it was swung. The sentinel and her mount exploding into dust.

Golden eyes seemed to almost fluoresce in the low light as he turned his head to look at him. “Stay close.”

“I’m right behind you.” Gripping his mace tightly in one hand Anduin bounded after the Alpha as he barreled forward through the trees. Trampling the twisting vines and gnarled undergrowth to dust and shards beneath plated sabatons. Charging forward into a ruin scattered clearing and drawing the alarmed hostility of all of the spirits there.

Well aware that his companion didn’t care to pay enough attention to what he was attacking to attempt to pick out the Unbound Seers from the mix and likely wouldn’t have known what to look for even if he had Anduin quickly scanned the area. Blue eyes darting from fallen bits of masonry to a faceted Ent shuffling around along the tree line to the converging spirits. Focusing on one which strayed too near only long enough to defend himself with a blast of blinding Light before resuming his search. Finding, at last, what he was looking for. A tall, shaggy vaguely satyr like creature with long thorny horns and a lion like tail.

“There!”

Launching a hunter halfway across the clearing with a single swing of his axe, Garrosh spun on his heel and fell in behind him. Anduin bounded ahead, sliding down a crystalline hill and launching himself at the Seer upon landing.

“Wrynn!”

Too much of his attention was focused on fending off the Satyr’s claws to look over at the Alpha but he knew from the rapid approach of heavy footsteps that the Warrior was stampeding, however unnecessarily, to his aid. The Demon hissed and lashed out again, attempting to withdraw, but the Paladin wasn’t having it. Summoning the same chains which he’d used to bind the Frostwyrm’s wings into existence and sending it tumbling to the rocky ground with a thud. Gorehowl’s timely fall prevented it from getting back up.

Mindful not to get any of its blood onto himself Anduin knelt beside its prone form and quickly searched it. Finding, finally, the crystal that he was looking for and jumping to his feet.

 “I’ve got it! Let’s get out of here!”

“Already?” another wide swing of his axe forced the angered spirits attempting to close in on them a few paces back. A timely shield from Anduin kept a fireball cast at them by a distant Mage from making contact with the Warrior. It glanced off and ricocheted away into the trees. “I’ve only taken down fifty of them!”

 ** _Only_** _fifty?_ By the Light! He’d heard rumors about Orcish bloodlust but he hadn’t thought it much more than an exaggeration. “You can always come back later, Garrosh, but we do have something we’re trying to prevent and I still need to imbue the crystal with the Holy Light before we head back.”

Grumbling, taking out another small handful of spirits for good measure, Garrosh finally tore himself away from the battle and started running. Dragging Anduin beside him for a few paces before the Paladin managed to catch his balance and begin to run himself.

“Come on, Wrynn! We’ll run until we lose them and then you can find a place to do that ritual of yours.” He said. “Though be mindful that I’ll be staying a safe distance away. Arcane or not.”

“You really distrust magic that much?” Another ball of fire whizzed between them, exploding a few paces ahead and leaving a crater in the ground. “What if you’re ever injured to the point that you need healing? What if, without Healing Magic, the wound would be fatal?”

“Then I’d tolerate you healing me. Any other Healer can eat their hands.”

Anduin laughed, choosing not to mention how impractical that viewpoint was. His long golden hair streaming behind him like the tail of a falling star and doing his best not to spare any thought to the hail of arrows whizzing by. “You really trust me that much?” He asked. “Quite a change from how you dismissed me after the ambush.”

“I saw you work after the ambush, Wrynn.” He said. “You finished with my men in half the time of the Horde’s best healers.”

“I’m only the conduit. It’s the Light that does the work.”  Their pace slowed as they pursuers at last began to drop away. “Still I truly do appreciate the compliment.” Indirect as it might have been.

With the last of the spirits gone the pair trotted to a stop. Had Anduin been less winded in that moment he might have considered the ramifications of how easily it came to him to prop his weight against the Overlord’s arm, as well as the fact that Garrosh allowed him to do so when all he’d have to have done to topple him onto the ground was take a single step to the right.

“You have everything that you need, now?”

Anduin nodded, holding the seer’s crystal in one hand as he dug in his pack with the other. “I have the words written down here somewhere, and all of the reagents now. I penned them this morning, over breakfast, before I came to meet you. I have them memorized but just in case I forget…” he trailed off with a sound of triumph, pulling the slip of paper free of his other belongings. “Now all we need to do is find a place that’s a little bit higher up and I’ll be able to perform this.”

“There should be some ruins that aren’t crawling with ghosts somewhere around here.” Garrosh said. “We’ll look from the air so as not to waste time.”

Anduin nodded once again, prodding his hippogriff into following the Overlord’s Wyvern into the air. “While I do this my full attention will be on imbuing the crystal with the Holy Light so that we’ll be able to discern what really happened to the Black Knight’s victims and gain a better idea of what we’re looking for. I’ll be left open to attack. And the amount of magic being used, even if it isn’t aligned towards the Arcane, is likely to draw in Blue Dragonflight forces.”

“I already told you that I’d watch your back, Kil’azi.”

“And I’ll join in to help with whatever comes once I’ve finished, though I doubt I’ll have much mana left at that point.”

Golden eyes stared down at him. “I wouldn’t put such a strong assurance on the fact that whatever shows up to attack you will still be alive by the time you’re finished playing with that rock.”

“Don’t rush on my account.” Anduin said around a smile, scanning the area below them for signs of a good staging area and quickly finding it. “There. That palisade would serve our purposes well enough.”

“Your purposes.” He corrected. “I’ll say it again, Kil’azi, I don’t want any part of whatever magic you’re planning on invoking.”

“Very well, my gallant protector Knight Sir Hellscream. _My_ purposes.”

Anduin flashed a cheeky grin when the Overlord shot him a mild glare. “Galant protector is tolerable, but axe the ‘knight’ bit. That’s a far too Human title to be anything other than offensive.”

The sound of Anduin’s laughter melded well with the singing forest and though Garrosh would never admit it he doubted the sound was one he’d ever hear enough of.

The little blonde dismounted quickly the moment that they touched down, beginning to rummage once again through his bag and pulling out herbs by the handful. Gold Clover. Khadgar’s Whisker. Purple Lotus. A number of others. Apparently, on top of everything else, the Omega was an herbalist of considerable accomplishment. And doubtlessly apt enough at Alchemy as well.

“I need to light these and inhale the smoke to put myself into something of a meditative trance in order to do this ritual correctly.” Anduin informed him, delving once again into his pack and this time pulling out a book of Gnomish matches. If they were anything like Goblin matches the damnable things were more likely to explode than do their job. Garrosh eyed them with a marked suspicion. “You may want to stand upwind of this or it may get you as well.”

“No matter how many herbs you mix together it won’t be enough to make me lose my head.” But the Orc moved upwind regardless, going on to step off of the palisade completely and walking almost to the tree line. Clearly, when he’d said that he’d be putting distance between himself and Anduin while he was working with Magic of any stripe, he hadn’t been kidding.

Allowing himself a small smirk that he knew the Overlord wouldn’t be able to see, the Prince lashed the herbs together into a bundle, cleared the snow away from beneath him and knelt down in front of the seer’s crystal. Striking one of the matches and burying its lit tip in the center of the bundle. Watching the little ember that quickly formed flicker a faint reddish orange and breathing in the floral smoke which wafted up towards him. Soon feeling his head begin to spin and his vision unfocus as the connection with the Light sharpened until he was aware of little else. The soft warm Holy power curling around him in gilded strands, responding with ease as he directed it towards the crystal.

Uneasy as the thought of a magic ritual going on so near made him-he had enough trouble remaining within reaching distance of Shaman like Thrall when they evoked their craft and half the time wouldn’t let Healers touch him if he yet retained the strength enough to give them the boot-Garrosh couldn’t contain his curiosity and turned to look. Knelt in a position of supplication with his face turned up towards the sky, Anduin was speaking in the strange tongue of the blue goat men with the same fluency with which he spoke Orcish and was physically glowing. Looking as if a sun shard had been forced between his ribs, lodging in his chest and lighting him up from within like a lantern. Gilded ribbons curled from his hands and into the crystal, forcing it to shatter the resultant glow into a blinding rainbow of color.

The sight, he felt sure, was one which was visible for miles. Certainly, from anywhere within Crystalsong Forest if not from anywhere in Northrend. And for all Garrosh knew the pillar of iridescent color was enough to draw in everything even the slightest bit hostile to their exact location. Golden eyes scanned the tree line, leaping from shadow to shadow in search of even the slightest motion. Expecting to be met at any moment by the sight of towering stone constructs or rattling skeletons or scaly Dragonspawn breaking through the trees.

A guttural roar from overhead echoed through the cold air and the Overlord looked up. Meeting the yellow gaze of the armored drake rapidly descending with its talons raised and teeth bared.

A column of violet mana fire poured from its maw as it dove down towards him. Blistering against the crystalized forest floor where Garrosh had been standing just moments before. Forcing the Orc to dive out of the way. The beast banked around and came in for another pass. Meeting with the blunt end of Gorehowl head on with the leading edge of its wing. The delicate appendage crumpling as it fell with a thud and a crash. Roaring, the Dragon clambered up onto all fours and snapped at him. Emitting another blast of mana flame. Garrosh dodged to the left and found himself in the path of the creature’s bludgeoning tail.

The breastplate he wore absorbed most of the blow, but the force of it was still enough to lift him off his feet and fling him backwards. Landing hard on his back in the snow with his side on fire. Ribs cracked, certainly, if not broken.

Snarling and spitting sparks in his direction but seemingly content that he was down and wouldn’t be getting back up the Drake turned its reptilian gaze on Anduin once more. The Paladin still buried in the midst of the ritual and unaware of the fight going on just yards away.

“No!” Discarding all thought of the pain of his injuries Garrosh heaved himself back onto his feet. Grabbing the Drake by the tail and yanking on it with all his might in an effort to pull its attention away. The Drake attempted to fling him away but Garrosh held fast. Being jerked left and right before finding his aim and dropping heavily onto its armored back. It hissed, mantling its wings and attempting to buck him off with a whip of its chorded spine.

Digging his fingers into the spaces between its armor plates the Overlord remained firmly lodged in place. Advancing until he could sling his legs astride the beast’s long neck, clinging on despite the Drake rearing and spinning and doing its best to attempt to take off despite its broken wing. The beast opened its mouth to roar again and Garrosh reached up, grasping a firm hold of its upper jaw and yanking backwards with all the weight and force that he could muster.

With a squeal of pain and a sickening crunch the Drake fell to the ground with an earthshaking thud, spilling the Mag’har onto the forest floor without ceremony or concern.

Sprawled on his back and huffing in pain, the only thought which could be bothered to occur to him was the fact that the dragon lying dead nearby would certainly qualify as a ‘savage beast brought down with his own hands’.

The Overlord wasn’t certain quite how long he lay there, staring up at the northern sky-tainted vaguely violet with coming evening-before he heard Anduin yelp “by the Light!” and the sound of plated footsteps rushing over. The blonde head and blue eyes of the little Omega appeared in his line of vision a moment later. “Are you alright?”

He sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m fine, Kil’azi.” Rolling up onto his knees and using his axe like a cane to prop himself up, Garrosh made a failed effort to hide a wince.

“You’re hurt.” Normally, if anyone else had taken on that empathetic ‘poor cute wounded animal’ tone with him he’d have crushed their skull like a sparrow’s egg. Now, all he could bring himself to do was grunt in a minorly displeased manner. Internally, his Alpha purred.

“The Dragon is worse off than I am.”

Anduin glanced over at it briefly, some of the blood draining from his face. “I-I’d imagine so. You ripped its head clean off!”

“Looks attached to me.”

“Internal decapitation is a medically recognized phenomenon!” The Paladin huffed, then stared at him for an extended moment before sighing and reaching for his pack again.  Soon producing a nightshade colored potion. “Here. I know you don’t like Magic or Healers but that clearly hurts. This should help.”

“A pain potion?” Anduin nodded. “who made this?”

“I did.”

So his guess about the Alchemy had been correct, then? Letting out a sigh of his own, Garrosh set the crystal phial aside and reached up to undo the straps on his breastplate. Anduin looked up at the sound of clanking armor and his jaw dropped in surprise.

“W-What are you doing?”

 “You can’t heal through armor, can you?” he grunted, doing his best to appear nonchalant. As if this wasn’t a step of significance to both of them. “It’d be suspicious for me to suddenly be favoring my side, and I can hardly keep a proper eye on you in a state like this.” Setting his breastplate aside, Garrosh pulled his leathers over his head as well. “Just make it fast. We should be getting back soon, after all, and I still need to do something with that damned blue lizard. With how much Dragon bits can go for to the right customer it’d be stupid to leave it here to rot.”

Anduin’s face had once again blossomed with that pleasing pink color, his blue eyes wide and slightly glassy. His first effort at response resulted in a rather undignified squeak and then he managed to get out a rather stilted “o-of course” and almost tripped over his feet before kneeling beside him. Pulling off one of his gauntlets before reaching towards him and, after checking his face for signs that he might be approaching a line and finding none, Anduin rested one of his hands against Garrosh’s side. Cool, thin fingers probing lightly at the area, cautious and searching and still managing to cause electric fissions of pain shooting through him. Containing a growl, he shifted in discomfort.

“Definitely broken.” He said softly, eyes concentrated on the first signs of bruising beginning to form along his ribs, the blue color partially concealed beneath long golden lashes. “The third and fifth, I think.” That hand, a bit warmer now, slid around to the front of his chest, tracing the bold black lines across his skin and drawing a shudder from the Alpha. Not just those slightly calloused fingers, now, but his palm as well. Pressing lightly but firmly against him. “Your sternum is fine.” He held the Overlord’s gaze as he straightened up, fingers only breaking contact with skin once they approached his tender side. “It may be a bit uncomfortable when I reset your bones but that should pass quickly. I’ll be done in something around ten minutes.” Anduin smiled, something about his expression seemingly almost indecently flirtatious given their situation. “A lot faster than allowing these to heal naturally. Have you ever been treated by the Light before?”

“No.” Garrosh informed him. “Shaman, mostly. A Druid, once. Only when there wasn’t any other choice. Like I’ve told you, Kil’azi, I don’t like Magic.”

“I’ve seen Druids and Shaman both work before but I’ve never been healed by either myself.” He said. “There won’t be any flowers sprouting up around us, so I hope that’s not a terrible disappointment.”

“Do I look like someone who’s fond of flowers, Wrynn?”

“One never can know.” He said. “I like amaranth, myself. Amaranthus Caudatus, specifically. Colloquially known as, rather morbidly, Love-Lies-Bleeding.” A small smile. “They’re beautiful, really. Long tassels of heart’s blood red which stand out brilliantly against the backdrop of green leaves.” It was obvious that the topic of conversation was the Paladin’s attempt to distract him from the pain of reknitting bones and wasn’t expecting the Overlord to really pay attention to him. Knowing that, it made putting his words to mind, strangely, more important. “They’re edible. Not tasty, by any means, but…I suppose that should ever someone become lost in the royal gardens they won’t starve before they’re found.” Beneath the stinging pressure of the healing magic forcing his broken ribs back into their proper position, a faint tingling sensation had spread throughout his body. Similar to the sensation of numbed limbs left too long in one position though not as unpleasant. “Learning the meanings of plants and flowers went hand and hand with learning to recognize and properly handle them in harvest and Alchemy. Given everything with…us I find the meaning behind my favorite flower to be rather fitting.”

“And what meaning would that be?”

Anduin’s only answer was another rather anemic looking smile as he pushed himself back onto his feet. “There’s only about an hour left before the sun sets.” He said. “We should see about harvesting your Dragon and heading back to the Tournament Grounds.”

However unwillingly, Garrosh allowed the matter to drop and replaced his armor before following Anduin over to the Drake. The little Omega had twice circled the fallen creature by now, once more appearing like a Talbuk suspicious that a wolf was merely playing dead. Something about his posture and the mincing caution of his steps speaking to a readiness to bolt at any moment.

He leapt a foot in the air when the Overlord kicked the fallen body. “It’s dead, Kil’azi. You’re safe.”

Looking once more between Garrosh and the Drake, Anduin finally nodded and dropped into a crouch. Running curious hands over the nearest expanse of sapphire scales. “This color. It’s beautiful.” He said. “Dragons are…magical really. The last time I was this close to one…w-well, I’d rather think about getting kidnapped by the Broodmother of the Black Dragonflight. Almost getting eaten by a horde of whelplings does tend to make one a bit uncomfortable around others of their kind.”

It was probably a good thing the Naxxramas mission had steered clear of Wyrmrest Temple, then. “The next time something kidnaps you it will have to deal with me.” Let it try. He had a lot of pent up aggression that still needed a release valve and now all he needed now was the proper excuse to make Thrall look the other way. Returning Gorehowl to its place across his back, the Overlord drew a small knife from his belt. “Have you ever skinned anything before?”

By the time the teeth, claws, horns and a respectable amount of its scaly hide had been removed night had fully fallen and all that remained to alleviate the darkness were the faintly glowing crystal trees. Anduin pulled the hearthstone leading back to the Argent tent out of his pack but didn’t hold it out to him right away.

“Meet me at the graveyard just outside the Tournament Grounds tonight. At midnight.” Anduin said. “We’ll use the stone then and, perhaps, finally get some answers.”

“Awfully eager to see this ended.” Without waiting for him to hold it out Garrosh stepped forward and covered the hand which was holding the hearthstone again with his own. “You do realize that, once this case of yours has been solved, we’ll have to come up with some other excuse to run around together on these little adventures of yours.”

The smile that Anduin flashed this time was a real one. “We’ll find a way, I’m sure. At least until the Tournament is over.” And even after, if Garrosh had his way. The little Omega turned the hearthstone thrice in his hand and, moments later, the world around them blurred to violet.


	10. The Stories Dead Men Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on typing up the next chapter of TWotL but it should be done soon. in the mean time i do have another chapter of WIRIO for you all. enjoy

            The speed with which the little Paladin had absconded upon landing, mount and Crusader both melting away into the mass of silver plate and glowing weapons, was more than minorly impressive but the muted ache caused by the thought of his Omega bolting so quickly, even if it wasn’t really from _him_ that he was running but rather notice by anyone who might see them together and think to inform the damnable King, prevented Garrosh from properly admiring it. Huffing in annoyance, ribs still in slight pain from the persistent but at this point thoroughly yellowed bruises painted along his side-perhaps he should have sat still for the Prince a little bit longer-and with nothing now to do but wait for midnight the Overlord returned his mount to its stall in the stables and headed back to the Horde Encampment. Retreating to his own tent and laying out the Dragon slaying spoils across the plush furs strewn over his pallet.

Fangs as long as the little Human’s fingers. Glossy, hooked talons. Curving horns. Scales the same tone of blue, or near about, as the minx Omega’s eyes. He had the necessary materials to make a proper first courting gift (if retroactively, seeing as they’d skipped ahead a fair bit, but damn it all he was going to do this right one way or another). Now the only question that yet remained was what to make. A drinking horn? That would be all well and good, proportion wise, for an Orc but that much alcohol would lead the little Prince to dropping dead, even if what it was filled with was the lowest alcohol content swill on Azeroth. A quiver? While it wasn’t out of the question that Anduin was able to use a bow, and if he wasn’t it wouldn’t be difficult to teach him given his curious nature, it would be better form to make his gift either something he knew how to use or something cosmetic.

He hadn’t noticed any jewelry on him; perhaps he ought to do something to change that. The fangs would be his best choice, then, to etch with the swirling designs indicative of the Warsong Clan, stain with color matched to those scales, to those eyes, and string on leather in proper Orcish style. But it would need something else as well. A wolf to replace Anduin’s Alliance Lion and for that he’d need a forge. One outfitted for more delicate crafts than weapon making and armor repair. The project, delicate as it was, would have to wait until he returned again to Orgrimmar.

“Garrosh.” Thrall’s voice from outside was the only warning that he had before the Warchief entered, giving him just enough time to hastily throw a thick fur across the spoils of battle. Hiding them from the other Orc’s view with mere seconds to spare. The Shaman’s gaze held worry, noticeable to anyone who would have cared enough to look for it, but it melted away into relief as he caught sight of him. “There you are. Where have you been?”

The Overlord fixed his mentor in a stubborn glare. “Need I report my every move to you as if I were some toothless pup? I wasn’t aware of as much.”

Thrall, by now doubtlessly having come to expect a response along such lines, released a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not asking you to turn in a daily itinerary,” he said, “but forgive me for being concerned when I go a whole day without seeing you while we’re in such proximity to Varian. Whom I know you hate.”

Garrosh grunted.

“You’re going to tell me, honestly, that you weren’t off terrorizing the Alliance?”

“Yes.” Thrall didn’t hide his disbelief. “I haven’t been on the Tournament Grounds since this morning. I spent the day in Silverpine and Crystalsong Forest respectively, assisting a member of the Argent Crusade who requested my help. Specifically.”

If anything, such a carefully worded answer only seemed to make the older Orc more suspicious. “This ‘member of the Argent Crusade’ wouldn’t happen to be Anduin Wrynn, would they?”

“So what if they were?” he said. “I thought you’d be thrilled, Thrall, to know that where I still wouldn’t miss a chance to skin the big lion, I can tolerate the little one.”

The Mag’har wasn’t quite sure how to read the expression Thrall was making. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due.” He said. “This is a creative way to get to Varian.”

“This has nothing to do with Varian!” The thought of the damned King who stood between him and the little blonde had his Alpha up and snarling and Garrosh wasn’t quite able to keep the snap out of his voice.  Though the Beta watched him warily, aware of the volatility of the situation at hand, he showed no sign of fear. “I didn’t know who he was until recently. Kil’azi went out of his way to conceal his identity until he absolutely couldn’t anymore!”

“Kil’azi?” the other Orc’s surprise at the nickname went entirely unnoticed by the agitated Alpha, now up off the bed that he’d been sitting on and pacing the room.

“He was assigned to investigate the murders which have been occurring by Fordring. Didn’t want to deal with that frigid bitch for permission to search the Valgan Stead for clues so he chose the quicker option of a Horde escort. I was happy to have the chance to actually _kill something_!”

“You need to be more careful, Garrosh.”

“Why?” he snapped. “You have your Mage.”

“Jaina Proudmoore is not the same as Anduin Wrynn. Not by a long shot.” Thrall said. “He’s the Crown Prince of Stormwind. Will take his father’s place one day as the High King of the Alliance. He’s Varian’s-.”

Garrosh spun around, golden eyes blazing, and roared “ _he’s mine!”_

Now the concern on Thrall’s face was undeniable, his brow furrowed in thought. “Your what?”

“…” Elements damn his temper. He may well have given the game away in a moment’s lapse of impulsivity. “He’s my…” after casting around for a few moments he finished with a rather lame “friend.”

“He’s an Omega.” A statement, not a question. The Overlord opened his mouth but Thrall continued before he could speak. “I was raised at Durnehold, Garrosh. By the very worst among the Human Alphas. Taretha was an Omega. I know the way they’re treated. If Anduin is a Delta, as the Humans call them, it would make perfect sense that Varian would do everything in his power to hide him. Even if that meant he had to live his life as something he wasn’t.”

“He’s poisoning himself.” Garrosh growled. “Is miserable. Constantly in fear he’ll be discovered. He’s better off with us but he refuses to leave those who’d only use him behind.”

“That does sound like him.” Thrall said. “I don’t know him terribly well, but from what I’ve heard of Anduin’s tendencies he leans more towards compassionate self-sacrifice than can truly be considered healthy for a person.”

“He’s intent on making himself suffer! I doubt he’s ever really been happy in his life!” Under his breath as he resumed pacing, the Overlord snarled. “How could he be, fighting every moment against instinct?”

“It’s clear you really do care about him.” His expression remained twisted with a shadow of concern but there was approval in his voice. “Of all the strange and sudden developments I’ve come to expect from you, having known both you and your father, I have to admit that discovering you’ve imprinted on the only son of the man you hate more than anything else on Azeroth is still more than a little bit blindsiding.”

Another grunt. The younger Orc seemed to have lost interest with engagement.

“What of him?”

“What _about_ him?”

“Anduin seems equally fond of you.” Thrall said. “You’re not the only one. It’s on both sides.”

“But it isn’t enough to pull him from Stormwind. ‘Duty’ is still more important.” There was resentment in his tone and Garrosh couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed of it.

“Give him time.” Thrall said. “Come on. Foods being served, and from the sound of things you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

The Warchief turned to exit the tent again but before he could Garrosh called him back, an unconcealed warning in his eyes. “Not a word of this. _No one_ can know what he is until he’s safely in Orgrimmar.”

“I told you, Garrosh, I know how Humans treat Omega. I wouldn’t have a hand in that.” Thrall said. “Now, come on. Rehgar will doubtlessly lose his mind if he doesn’t get confirmation that you’re not run off to raise hell in the Alliance Encampment within the next handful of minutes.”

With yet another disinterested noise Garrosh followed him out.

The other Shaman, as expected, had been under the apparent impression that Garrosh had taken a black-market portal to Stormwind and been slaughtering people in the streets because he didn’t waste a moment in attempting to interrogate him on the matter. Thrall’s efforts to diffuse the situation only reached so far and dinner was spent in uncomfortable silence, exchanged glares ala carte.

It was a relief when he could finally retire to his tent once again, though he didn’t sleep. Couldn’t risk failing to wake up in time to meet the little Omega when he’d said he would given he knew full well that Anduin would go forward with whatever plans he had with or without him. And given how dangerous even simply empowering the crystal that he’d needed had turned out to be Garrosh wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

Pausing only long enough to pull on a thick cloak and heft Gorehowl across his back the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive peered out into the night and, after ensuring that the coast was clear, headed off in the general direction he’d been given earlier. He reached the little graveyard-little more than a small hamlet, really, fenced in with salvaged metal gates and dotted with unmarked stones shoved at odd angles into the unyielding ice-a handful of minutes later.

Without the lights of the Tournament Grounds the Icecrown night was nearly pitch black, the clouds which choked the sky blocking out any hope of moon or starlight reaching the glacier below. Despite the fact that all he could make out of his companion was a thin black shape until he was nearly standing on top of him Garrosh didn’t hesitate in approaching where the Paladin stood. More than able to recognize him even still.

“You weren’t waiting long, were you?” it was cold out there, even for an Orc. A Human, especially one as small as him, could easily have frozen.

The little shadow in front of him twitched, its motion what might have been the Paladin’s head turning up towards him. “Not at all, no. I only got here about a minute before you did, Garrosh.” Another motion as he bent down, followed by the gentle clank of something metallic, and then light-so dim it was barely there; just enough to see by while up close-flared to life. An old half-beaten lantern, the flickering glow of the little flame enough to throw the muted, fur lined leather he was swathed in into relief. Still fitted. Still fine. But more similar to what he’d seen Valiants wearing than the trappings of a royal, and certainly not his Argent armor.

Odd that he’d be dressed as if he wasn’t possessed of the permission that he claimed he was.

The glow of the lantern reflected in the Omega’s blue eyes as he turned up his face to look at him again. “You didn’t find too much trouble getting out here, did you?”

“Not as much as you, by the look of it.” Reaching out with one hand, Garrosh gently tugged on the rim of Anduin’s hood. “You don’t have half the clearance you’ve been claiming, do you?” The blank stare that he received was answer enough. Garrosh huffed out a sigh, golden eyes narrowing. “Did you even talk to Fordring at all?”

“Of course, I’ve talked to the Highlord about this! After every murder I’ve spoken to him and time and again I’ve been shot down!” He coiled down into a defensive posture. “I couldn’t stand by anymore. Not when it was so obvious who was doing this and easy enough to guess why!”

“So you lied?” with no defense the Prince hung his head, shoulders sagging.

“I did what I believed was less wrong than standing by.” He refused to make eye contact. “I won’t apologize for doing what I really thought I had to. But if you won’t aid me going forward, I understand.”

A faint snow had begun to fall, a rare absence of the wind which usually wailed across the glacier allowing the small flakes to rest softly against the dark fabric which hung from his shoulders. Garrosh took Anduin’s chin in his hand, grip gentle but starkly firm and brokering no argument, and forced the little Human to look him in the eye. Honest regret was visible, though the same stubbornness he’d come to expect from the Omega was buried beneath it.

“I’ll give you this one, Kil’azi.” He said. “But in the future, there will be consequences. Lie to your father from here to the Spires. Mislead your superiors all you wish. But do _not_ lie to me. Mates stand together. Always.”

“So it goes from ‘your information is bad’ to ‘we’ve imprinted’ to ‘mates’?” Anduin’s lips twitched into the brief impression of a smile. “Funny how things change.”

Golden eyes bore into him, the dim light of the lantern making them all the more intense. “You’re going to deny that you accepted my courting?”

“You’re going to legitimize the courting which you accidentally extended by verbalizing it?”

The Overlord didn’t look amused. “Your word, Kil’azi.” He growled. “No more deceptions. You’re going to be honest about your machinations so that I can help you.”

The Paladin sighed, reaching up to wrap his thin fingers around Garrosh’s thumb. “Mates stand as one.”

“And you’ll be honest with me? Without exception?”

Anduin nodded, leaning into his hand. “Without exception.”

Releasing him with a satisfied grunt, Garrosh stepped away. “Let’s get on with why we’re here. The longer we hang around the more likely we are to be found out. And then you’ll have to explain yourself and all of this running around would have been for nothing.” He said. “What are you even planning to do with that crystal.”

“Divine the truth.” Anduin chirped, lantern bobbling at his side as he pushed the crooked gate open. Cautiously, so as not to illicit the corroded hinges to creak and alert anything or anyone which might have been nearby.

“Clarify.” Garrosh growled, his effort to slip through the opening much less successful than Anduin’s had been. His much larger body becoming wedged in the thin space. Pushing it further open to allow himself to pass, he followed the Omega into the cemetery beyond the gate. “That little excuse of yours explains nothing. Specifics, Wrynn!”

The blonde huffed out a sigh. “We’re going to use this crystal at the graves to determine how it was, exactly, that Lorien Sunblaze, Connall Irongrip and Sir Wendell Balfour were killed.” He said. “Sunblaze’s grave is just over this way.”

“How, exactly, is this crystal of yours going to do that?”

“By raising their spirits so that we can speak with them. Briefly. But long enough to learn, from their mouths, how they died.”

“Necromancy?” Garrosh spat, horrified.

Anduin stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face him. Incredulity and a modicum of offense on his face. “I. Am. A. _Paladin_!” He snapped. “It is _not_ Necromancy. Necromancy is a wicked, abhorrent black art which I want no part of. What we’re doing is appealing to the Light to allow us to speak to these fallen men and bring them justice. It’s little different than what Shamans are capable of with their spirit totems.”

“Anything dealing with disturbing the dead I don’t trust.” The Overlord said. “Especially given where we are and all that’s happened.”

“I don’t like it either, admittedly. Even if it’s necessary to stop further bloodshed.” Anduin pulled his fur lined cloak tighter about himself and shivered. “We won’t keep them long.” The Paladin jumped when the Overlord’s cloak was dropped across his shoulders, turning wide eyes to him. “What-?”

“You’re shivering.” Said as if it explained everything.

“But what about you?”

“Orcs run hotter than Humans.” He said. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re certain.” There was something deeply satisfying about the way he pulled the much larger cloak tightly to him. Burying his face in the material. Breathing in the scent which clung to it.

They came to the first grave a moment later and Anduin, reluctantly, released his hold on the fabric. Rummaging around in his pack until he pulled out the crystal and rattling off another phrase in Draeni. The stone glowed a faint blue color and a moment later the translucent image of a Blood Elf stood before them.

The Knife Ears looked confused. Dressed in the same leather ensemble in which he’d probably died. The spirit didn’t appear hostile, at least for the time being, so Garrosh restrained his reaction to a wary glare. Almost daring the wraith to act.

“You.” It said, unsteady. “Who are you?”

“A member of the Crusade. Someone who would see justice done for what happened to you.” He said. “How did you die? Who killed you?”

“I do not know who it was, though I can guess. I’d sparred with him that day, after all. Was set to duel him in the ring.”

“The Black Knight.” Anduin said.

“Yes.” The Blood Elf’s ears pinned back. “It was poison, though I didn’t recognize the sort. An impressive feat. Rogues like me tend to be well versed in them, after all. The last that I remember is some sort of censure or vial; the choking, green cloud which leaked from it.” He scowled. “May I go now, Paladin? Being held here…it’s unpleasant.”

“Of course. Thank you for your aid.” Anduin bowed his head. “I’ll release you.” Another Draeni word and the crystal went dark. The spirit fading from view.

“Am I the only one, Overlord, who recognized that description as the Plague?” his tone was stark. Serious.

The Mag’har shook his head. “No. You’re not the only one.” Garrosh growled. “And I’m starting to like this less and less by the moment.”

“You’re not alone in that much.” He turned and began to walk away towards the west. “We have two more to go before we’ll have all the information we’ll need to know exactly what we’re looking for and can get out of here.”

The second grave belonged to one Sir Wendell Balfour, a Knight of Stormwind who needed no explanation of whom Anduin was but was-in Garrosh’s opinion at least-overly interested, and overly hostile regarding the matter, in why he was keeping the company of an Orc in the dead of night. After fifteen minutes the Paladin finally managed to get out of him memories of a sudden coating of tar and a spark with no explanation.

Supplies to start a fire could be easily extrapolated.

Connall Irongrip was a Dwarven Crusader who’d been summarily stabbed in the back and had, of course, not seen who’d been responsible. Fairly typical of Dwarves. With a less than polite request for one of them to return with a pint and pour it on his grave the third and final spirit was returned to wherever it had come from.

“You have your information.” Garrosh said once the crystal had gone dark a final time and Anduin had slipped it back into his pack. “Now what?”

“We look for evidence. And I can think of a good place to start.” Again, likely unconsciously, the Prince bundled himself up tighter in the borrowed cloak. “The Black Knight has a squire. A mute, presumably, Orc whom heads off every morning into Crystalsong Forest to ‘chop wood’ and stays far longer than can be accounted for. Even by a squire with duties to his Knight. Not to mention the fact that he never returns with any wood.”

“You think he’s getting rid of evidence.”

The Paladin nodded. “As well as I can figure, that’s the most likely explanation.” He said. “He leaves every morning at the same time; just after sunrise. We can meet around then and follow him.”

“Or we could skip a step and you could come back to my tent for the night.” Anduin’s face lit up with such a furious blush that he nearly outshined his lantern. “I’ll do no more to you than I did in that tent, Kil’azi. You have my word. And by now, having worn that cloak, you’re no doubt covered in my scent. We can cover it with blood tomorrow but until then it’s best you not risk Varian coming across you.”

The Prince continued to gape at him for a moment more, then shook his head. Trying and failing spectacularly, to keep a grin off of his face. “Why, Garrosh, if I didn’t know any better I’d accuse you of having planned this.”

“Serendipity.” He grunted, dismissive. “But that’s not going to stop me from taking advantage of it.”

He wanted to, the Overlord could tell as much with ease, but still the little Omega stalled. Searching for excuses. Grasping at straws.

He was testing his resolve. A crucial measurement which he wasn’t going to fail.

“You can guarantee no one will come into your tent and see me?”

“No one aside from the Warchief himself would dare. And he wouldn’t tell anyone.” Garrosh said. “He’s trustworthy enough in that regard.”

“I haven’t any sleep clothes to change into.” Anduin said. “I can’t sleep in these.”

“Just take them off, then.” Again with the blush. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen you in your small clothes before. And without all of this ridiculous fabric in the way I’ll be able to keep you that much warmer.” He said. “Any other excuses?”

The Prince appeared to calculate this question before he finally peered up at Garrosh again and chirped “lead the way.”

“At this time of night no one should be out and about the encampment,” Garrosh informed him, turning and starting back towards the gate, “but in any case, stay close Kil’azi.”

It was almost as if he’d been waiting for the invitation, because the little Omega took ‘stay close’ quite literally and all but glued himself to the Overlord’s side. Not that Garrosh was complaining; for some reason he couldn’t discern and couldn’t be bothered with looking too far into there was nothing more rewarding on a primal level than the faint weight of those thin fingers against his bracer.

As expected, there was no one around to see them as they entered the Horde Encampment but Anduin didn’t draw away. Garrosh would have had to pull him back to his side if he had so it saved them both the trouble.

“Here.” Reaching out for the flap he drew it aside for Anduin to pass through ahead of him. Ducking slightly under his arm the little blonde looked around with a curious light in his blue eyes. “None of the ridiculous finery I’m sure the Prince’s tent has, but its passably comfortable.”

“I like it.” He said around a smile, examining a shoveltusk skull balanced atop a shelf. “Very…rustic. I appreciate the privilege that my position gives me but it can be suffocating. But this? This is nice.” A pause. Expression shifting to a tint of embarrassment, Anduin gestured to himself and asked “do you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead.” Silence. Anduin still made no move to begin to undress. They simply stared at each other for a few moments more before Garrosh realized why. With a huff he turned, reluctantly, around to face the wall of the tent. “Humans and their damned modesty.” He grumbled over the soft rustling of cloth.

It couldn’t have been two minutes that he stood there before the Prince lightly touched his bracer again. Garrosh turned, only to find his long-awaited view of the little Omega obscured by the cloak which he’d lent him. Innocently, or so it seemed though the Mag’har had his doubts, the Prince held it out to him.

“Thank you, Garrosh, for lending me this. It wouldn’t be good form for me to put it on the floor, but seeing as I don’t know where I should hang it…”

Garrosh took the cloak from him and, at last, revealed the Human’s all but unclothed form to his eyes for the second time. Golden gaze roving over the curve of the juncture between his neck and shoulder; the lean, defined muscles of his thin chest; the tracks raised scars cut across his pale skin like knotted serpents. Without breaking his gaze, the Overlord dropped his cloak onto the proper peg.

The faint pink dusting had returned yet again to Anduin’s face, a reaction so un-Orc-like that Garrosh couldn’t help but marvel every time he saw it. “Am I going to be the only one?”

Garrosh snorted. “Eager, aren’t you?” The little Omega swallowed hard, his blush intensifying considerably and didn’t reply. “No need to turn around for me.” Undoing the straps of his chest plate quickly, he allowed it to drop to the ground with a muted clang. Followed by the rest of his armor. “Orcs don’t have the same hang-ups as your race does regarding nudity.” He pulled his leathers over his head, leaving himself in only coarse pants. “Complete or partial.”

It was no small vindication that the Prince was openly staring now. Blue eyes tracing the swirling patterns of black tattoos; the senseless spread of silver scars. Of particular interest seemed to be the heavy iron rings through his nipples. Without a word he stepped forward, reaching out but stopping just short of touching him. Looking up with those blue eyes for permission to proceed. Delicately, Garrosh took his hand in his own much larger one and rested it against his chest. Over his heart. His other arm wrapped around the little Human’s waist and pulled him flush against him. Pressing skin to cold skin and eliciting a huff of surprise and a mild glare, lithe fingers mapping the paths his eyes had taken just moments before.

For a moment the Omega considered him and the situation and then after fumbling a bit with precisely how to react-and a stiltedness which made it clear that what should have been a natural response was entirely alien to him-Anduin pushed himself up onto his toes and butted his head against the Overlord’s chin. A gentle purr beginning to motor in his throat.

The Orc didn’t hesitate in picking him up, earning a brief squeak of surprise before his purring resumed, and set him down on the pallet of furs. Anduin wasted no time in making himself quite at home there, tracking the Overlord’s progress around the pallet’s other side with an alert gaze. Pouncing the instant that he laid down.

“You need to sprout some claws before you can be doing that to any affect, Kil’azi.”

“Don’t you mean horns, Overlord?” Anduin pushed himself up onto his elbows, hands splayed across Garrosh’s chest. “I thought I was a Talbuk, not a lion.”

“I’d argue that you’re both.”

The Prince puffed himself up in offense, but the glinting of mirth in his eyes made it clear it was all for show. “Are you calling me a Chimera? Why, that’s incredibly rude!”

Garrosh snorted, reaching up an arm to knock his support from beneath him. Anduin tumbled, laughing, and splayed across the Alpha below him. Everything about him in that moment radiating comfort with his position. “You couldn’t run with wolves if you didn’t have at least a bit of predator in you.”

“Oh, but I thought I didn’t have claws.”

Apparently deciding that being talked in circles at so late an hour wasn’t worth it, the Overlord reached up his arm again and used it to gently pin the Human in place. “Go to bed, Wrynn.”

Garrosh expected more of a fight, considering how stubborn Anduin was, but clearly the little Omega was more tired than he looked because he launched no complaints. Simply reaching back and pulling the tie from his hair and allowing the golden locks to spill down around his shoulders.

Again presented with the opportunity he hadn’t taken in that ragged tent, staked out in the open Dragonblight, Garrosh raised a hand and, half hesitant, ran his fingers through the little Human’s flowing mane. Soft and smooth and oddly slick, just like the silk of which those pompous Knife Ears were so unreasonably fond. Glinting in the low light against his skin. Blue eyes slid open again but Anduin didn’t raise his head from where he’d lain it. “Do you like my hair, Garrosh?” His voice was lilting; playful. At that angle it was impossible to tell if he was smirking or not but the Orc could easily imagine that he was.

“Given our positions,” he grunted, “I don’t think I can give an unbiased opinion of any part of you.”

“Oh?” he shifted around, propping his chin up on one wrist and running his fingers along the Overlord’s collarbone. “Biased or not, I would appreciate knowing the opinion of my _mate_.”

Garrosh let out a half-strained huff, resisting the urge to pull him in by a small margin. Releasing his light grip on the Omega’s hair and letting it slip through his fingers. “You’re not an Orc. And I doubt I’ll ever understand why it was you.” The Overlord’s massive hand rested on the back of the Prince’s neck. Snapping it would have been simple but the Human didn’t flinch. “You’re beautiful.”

“I am?” he said as if no one had ever told him as much before, which Garrosh found difficult to believe. Then again, considering the fact that Varian was all but breathing down the Princeling’s neck and flashing death eyes at anyone who so much as looked in his direction…

“I already told you that I couldn’t explain it. Any other Human I’d find ugly, with your kind’s flat faces and small teeth and pink skin, but you…?” he huffed. “It helps that you look next to nothing like your father.”

Anduin chuckled. “I am a towhead. I get it from my mother.” He said, then sighed sadly. “I got a lot of things from my mother.” Realizing that Garrosh was openly staring at him, the Prince asked “what?”

“Toe head?”

Ah, another phrase which didn’t translate well. “Tow, not toe. As in a head of flax or wheat.” He explained. “Since wheat is gold and blonde hair is also gold ‘towhead’ is used to describe people who are blonde.”

“How many nonsensical comparisons does your language _have_? And how are you managing to bring them over into Orcish?”

“Badly, apparently, given the confusion both times have caused.” Anduin said. “And we have a lot of ‘nonsensical’ comparisons and metaphors. And numerous synonyms. It’s why Common is such a rich language.”

“Rich?” the Orc scoffed. “Is that one of your ‘synonyms’ for overburdened?”

“Form over function verses function over form I suppose.” He said. “All languages are different.”

“Go to bed, Wrynn.” The Overlord repeated.

The little Human grinned, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Make me.”

Moving the hand resting on the back of his neck down his back, Garrosh lightly pressed his fingers into the flesh to either side of his spine. Sliding his hand down the length of his back, stimulating the glands embedded there and making the Omega go boneless with a squeak of surprise. Tinting the air with that mulled wine scent.

“W-What-?”

“You said ‘make you’.” Garrosh repeated the motion and watched the Omega sag further. Lids heavy. “Did you think your Alpha couldn’t manage doing just that?”

Anduin’s efforts to reply resulted in a muffled grunt. He tried to raise his head but couldn’t. Was barely able to keep his eyes open. A third pass left him fully limp, breathing quickly evening out to a deep resting keel. Puffing hot against his chest.

Regardless of the fact that Anduin had blatantly invited the application of an Alpha’s powers Garrosh had no doubt he’d be hearing about this in the morning, though he couldn’t bring himself to be terribly worried about it. The little lion could huff and puff and make a mockery of wolves by trying to blow the tent down all he wanted but neither of them seemed the type to apologize for doing what they thought was right. And that wasn’t about to change now.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the now soundly sleeping Human curled stop him, Garrosh pulled the furs over them both and closed his eyes.


	11. Something About the Squire

The Overlord of the Warsong Offensive woke the next morning to find himself thoroughly tangled with the still sleeping Omega. His body curled protectively around the much smaller male’s form. Sunlight, or at least whatever tepid grey glow passed as it up on that glacier, lit the fabric of his tent a dull crimson color which played handsomely across Anduin’s pale skin, shoulders and chest left bare by the furs which had come to rest beneath his ribs. His head was tucked close against the pallet, gilt hair a wild tangle obscuring most of his face.

They needed to get up if they were going to trail the Black Knight’s Squire and so, though he was loath to do it, Garrosh prodded lightly at the little Human until he rolled over with a disturbed grumble and opened his eyes. Joints emitting a series of pops as he stretched and sat up. Brushed his hair back.

“I’m going to ignore that, because I invited it and because I think that’s quite possibly the best sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life.” With practiced ease Anduin secured the tie back in his hair. “What time is it?”

“Not long after dawn. I can’t tell you more specifically.” Garrosh’s eyes followed the curve of the Human’s spine as he arched his back. What he wouldn’t have given to pull him in; bury his face between his shoulder blades, the juncture of his neck. To bite and mark and claim. Keep him there until the next dawn. Burn the suppressants which were the crux of his disguise and which were slowly killing him. Days and months and years shaved off his life every time he took them. But the little Omega, without a doubt, would not be pleased with that course of action and he’d have his hands far more than full.

Difficult as it would be for him-hot blooded, a Warrior, so often maligned as rash and impulsive; prone to acting first and thinking later if he bothered to think at all-Garrosh would have to wait until the Prince could finally bring himself to leave the Alliance for the Horde of his own free will. Ultimately, in the end, it would be of greater advantage to him that he did as then he’d have the high ground. He’d be the one whom Anduin wanted to be with and Varian would become the villain if he were to ever make an effort to pull him away.

“We should run, then. We don’t have much time if we’re going to tail him, and catch him red handed Light willing, and we still have to get dressed. And make it to the stables.” Swinging his legs out of the pallet, Anduin pushed himself onto his feet and headed towards where he’d left his clothes the night before. “Not to mention the fact that it won’t be much longer before the entire encampment begins to wake up and I can’t afford to have the rumor mill fire up with word that I was spotted exiting Garrosh Hellscream’s tent. Not with what such an hour would entail regarding our activities and your pallet. Or rather our activities in your pallet. Frankly I don’t think you can afford it either.”

“Afford what, Kil’azi?”

Anduin still wasn’t facing him as he pulled his shirt on over his head. Trying and failing to hide the inward curl of his shoulders. “The consequences that would come with even the mere suggestion of bedding a Human.” He said. “At least, bedding a Human out of love.”

“That was the Old Horde. Not this one.” If asked, Garrosh wouldn’t have been able to confidently answer whether he was talking about the banishment of Orcs who dared to fall for the Paladin’s race or the rampant rapes which had gone alongside the pillaging and burning of the First and Second wars and had resulted in the vast majority of the currently living Orc-Human Hybrids. “Having you as my mate is far more likely to make me the next Warchief than a pariah of the Horde. And I’m not afraid of the derision of peons; crush enough skulls and they’ll stop hissing. They always do.”

Anduin didn’t seem comforted by his words, head bowed as he hugged one of his arms to his chest.

“And it’s not as if you’d risk being arrested. Varian would torch Stormwind to the ground himself before letting you land in the Stockades. And scandals pass.”

“That depends what you mean by ‘arrested’.” He said. His father no doubt would lock Anduin in Stormwind’s highest tower ‘for his own protection’ if it ever came out that he’d kept even the innocent bed company of an Orc. He might even splurge on hiring a bonified Dragon to keep him there! “And what of the status of those Half-Orcen? Those born from love are nearly nonexistent so I’ve no way of knowing how they’d fare beyond that they never land themselves in the Alliance. For the vast majority they represent a horror their Human parent would never want to relive. And a bloody miracle it would be if they ever manage to find their Orcish one. Most of them end up alone. Adrift. Apart from both Factions. I never knew my mother. My father was distant for years. I don’t want to put another child through that. Not ever!”

“Half-Orcen? Just a moment ago we were going over your ridiculous notion that I’d have embraced the fact we’re mates, would have pursued you like this, if I’d any intention of keeping you relegated to a closet affair. I don’t see how that could possibly have anything to do with-.” Garrosh cut himself off abruptly, golden eyes going wide. There was an almost vicious amusement radiating off the Omega in front of him. “You want a family. A child.”

“Children.” Anduin said, stressing the plural as he finally turned towards him. “With you. I want what I never had. Is that really such a surprise Overlord?”

That an Omega would want children? No not really. The majority of that was instinct. What he hadn’t expected was for the Human to whip the matter out of nowhere in a fit of insecurity and utterly blindside him. “I’ve never imagined myself a father, Kil’azi.” He didn’t exactly have any examples in his own life to draw on. How in the elements was he supposed to raise another Orc without turning them into some sort of monster?”

“We’ll be in it together. We’d both play equal parts in making them, after all. And mates are meant to stand as one.” Anduin’s eyes narrowed. “You bought the whole package without looking inside it first. You don’t get to have buyer’s remorse now. Certainly not if you intend to weigh against my duty to my people.”

Naturally the three Omegan traits which remained intact in the blonde in front of him were diplomacy a desire for children and an utter disregard for shamelessly manipulating their Alphas in order to ensure they got what they wanted.

Well, maybe that last one was more of a stereotype.

“I never said I didn’t want to be.” He said, relieved to find the hostility beginning to bleed from the little Paladin’s stance. “And Half-Orcen aren’t turned away from the Horde. I know a part Tauren passably well.”

“Half-Orcen of two Horde races maybe. But what about those that are half Alliance?”

“Our children won’t be half Alliance.” Garrosh said. “By the time they see Azeroth you’ll be as much Horde as I am. And anyone suggesting otherwise had better pray that I don’t hear them.”

Finally, his expression broke into a smile, small and rather embarrassed looking, and he straightened. Fumbling with the clasp of the cloak of his throat solely for something to do with his hands. “I suppose I might have let myself get carried away with this.” Anduin admitted. “And may have jumped the crocolisk.”

“Maybe just a bit.” The Overlord grunted in reply. “Don’t we have somewhere we need to be?”

Anduin squawked and bolted out of the tent, vanishing before Garrosh could catch a glimpse of where he’d gone. Grumbling, the Overlord finished strapping on his armor and headed out himself.

The Omega was perched atop the glaring hippogriff and awaiting him outside the stables by the time he got there, practically vibrating with anticipation. His mount didn’t look pleased with this behavior and in all honesty the Overlord couldn’t blame it. Aware the Prince’s twitchy demeanor would only intensify the longer that they delayed he wasted no time retrieving his wyvern.

“You know where the Black Knight’s Squire would be, I presume?” The blonde nodded, winding the reigns tighter around his hand. “Lead the way, Kil’azi.”

Anduin prodded his hippogriff with his heels and the winged beast launched itself into the air, Garrosh and his wyvern following after. Circling around the Tournament Grounds before banking south towards Crystalsong Forest. Keeping as low to the glacier as they dared so that the little Paladin could scan the ice for their quarry. The Mag’har taking it upon himself to keep watch for Frostwyrms, golden eyes scanning the solid grey of the horizon but able to make nothing out through the haze.

“We delayed too long.” Anduin called over the rushing wind, holding his hood in place with one hand and gripping the reigns of his mount with the other. “The Black Knight’s Squire must have made it into Crystalsong already. If we keep at this height much longer, we’ll run face first into the Death Gate.”

“We should pull up, then.” Garrosh called back. “We’ll resume the search once we get into Crystalsong.”

The Prince nodded and pulled back on the reigns, his temperamental mount complying and climbing closer to the clouds up and out of reach of most of the patrolling undead wyrms. Still, Garrosh didn’t drop his guard.

“What do you intend to do once we catch up with this squire?” he asked.

“Knock him out and search him.” Anduin replied.

“Knock him out?” the Orc scoffed. “Why not just kill him and be done with it? All signs point to your theory of the Black Knight being a member of the Cult of the Damned being correct. That would make his Squire one as well.”

“Even with all signs pointing to the fact that my assumption is correct I’m not infallible, Garrosh. I could still be wrong.”

Garrosh grunted. “Unlikely.”

“Unlikely or not, the chance is still there. I could be wrong. I could be right but the Squire might be under some form of enchantment; his actions puppetry against his own will. I won’t risk innocent blood on my hands.”

“You split too many hairs, Wrynn!” Garrosh growled, scrunching up his face as a particularly stiff wind threw razor snowflakes into his eyes.

“You call it splitting hairs, I call it seeing shades of grey.” Anduin said. “Not everything is black and white. Lines blur. Some situations require a more delicate touch. A leader, if he’s to be truly effective and not a bane to his enemies and his own people alike, cannot afford to ignore this. A lesson my father has yet to fully learn.”

“I doubt he ever will.” Garrosh grunted. “You expect too much of him. He’ll never see the Horde as anything but an enemy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“He who lives in a glass house shouldn’t walk around naked.” Anduin informed him sagely.

“I have you for ‘seeing shades of grey’. And I’ll have you know that that Human phrase is one I know.” Garrosh said. “It’s ‘throw stones’. I think we're both aware of that.”

Anduin’s rollicking laughter was blown away by the frigid winds.

The ridge of mountains separating Icecrown Glacier from Crystalsong forest rose before them, a narrow pass opening between a pair of fang like peaks, and below them a figure. Hunched against the cold as it plodded its way through the snow.

“Wrynn!”

“I see.” The Prince’s voice was barely audible, features suddenly hawk like. Trying not to be heard, no doubt.

Growling but aware that Anduin’s inclination towards silence was the better choice so as not to startle their prey Garrosh prodded his mount closer. Stopping only once the wyvern and hippogriff were nearly wing tip to wing tip. “Now what?”

Anduin peered down at the Squire again, then raised his eyes to meet the Overlord’s gaze. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he demanded.

“We need to wait for him to get to where he’s going.” He said. “For all we know he doesn’t have anything on him. We need to be led to where he’s hidden the evidence. If he’s hidden the evidence at all. Either way it’s too high a risk to run to act prematurely.”

Lives, without question, were riding on this. The only thing still up in the air were how many. The Black Knight was a minion of the Lich King. Had already killed, brutally, on four occasions. As much as Garrosh wanted to swoop down on the Squire and bury Gorehowl in his skull thoughts of Anduin being the next to turn up dead, of thin bones broken and blue eyes gone dark, stayed his hand.

“We climb higher, then, so that we won’t be seen and follow him.” The Overlord said.

Anduin relegated his response to a nod and the pair climbed even higher towards the clouds. Circling above the Black Knight’s Squire, cautious to keep their shadows from falling where they’d be noticed, until at nearly noon the Orc below them finally trotted to a stop.

Anduin motioned downwards and both descended into the trees. Landing on the forest floor below and dismounting without a moment spared, the pair crept forward until they were able to make out their quarry through the undergrowth.

“What’s he doing?” the Prince hissed, craning his neck and squinting. “I can’t tell. I’m too short.”

“He’s burying something.” Garrosh growled. “A box by the look of it. Though what’s inside of it I can only guess.”

“Evidence.”

“More than likely.”

“We need to stop him!”

“And we will,” Garrosh said, one restraining hand falling on the cloak the Prince wore in preparation to hold him back if need be. “But leave stopping him to me.”

“Don’t-.”

“Kill him? I know, Kil’azi, we’ve been over this.” He said. “I’m only going to knock him senseless.”

“With what?” Anduin asked. “Your axe?”

Grumbling under his breath, the Overlord scanned the forest floor around them and spied what at first glance appeared to be a fallen tree branch. Pulling it up from the leaf litter revealed it to be a petrified femur. Grinning savagely around his pointed tusks, Garrosh held up the improvised weapon. “With this.”

“A bone?” the Prince sounded genuinely surprised. “Very…cave man. Very…primitive. Very…” he cleared his throat, “attractive.”

“Not the time, Wrynn.”

“I’m well aware.” Anduin replied. “What I wasn’t aware of was that I had a thing for bones. I think I’ve been in Northrend for too long.”

Grunting, Garrosh began creeping forwards. “Focus on getting a hold of that box. We’ll worry about searching this peon if it turns up nothing.”

“Agreed.” The Prince said, remaining behind the shelter of the undergrowth. Poised to spring at a moment’s notice.

The Black Knight’s Squire was hard at work banging a shovel against the frozen ground, a stone box lying at his feet. The clang of metal against ice covering his plate clad footsteps as he approached and raised the femur. Restraining his blow just enough to prevent it from splitting the other Orc’s skull and watching him crumple with a groan and a thud.

In that moment looking more like a Talbuk than ever before Anduin leapt from the undergrowth closing the distance between himself and the stone box in a flash of lithe grace, cloak fluttering behind him and hood falling to reveal his burnished hair. Falling to his knees beside the box with near enough momentum to tip himself forward over it and flinging off the lid.

“This is it.” He crowed, shoving both his hands into the contents and pulling them out. Ropes, a dagger, a bloodied mortar stone rolling across the ground. “All of it! Everything! All we need now is proof of who sent that bastard!” His Orders would be more than enough, though I wouldn’t mind springing for a falsified invitation as well.”

“Perhaps you’re stretching for a bit too much.” Garrosh said.

Anduin shook his head and then blew a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. “I want this air tight. So that we can be certain that the Black Knight, as well as his compatriots whomever they may be, won’t be able to slip away. So that no one else will die.”

“And to ensure that you avoid a court marshal from your superiors for acting of your own accord and going over their heads?”

Another rather dismissive noise. “Tirion, of all people, is the most likely to understand hearing the Light’s call and adjust their behavior accordingly. For a Paladin or Priest, the law of man is merely structure.

“Don’t your kind usually describe themselves as ‘Lawful Good’?” Garrosh tossed the femur aside. It flew a couple of yards before landing with a thud. Anduin briefly turned his head towards the noise. “It looks to me like you’ve forgotten the ‘Lawful’ part.”

“Our only law is the law of the Light.”

Listening to the voices in their heads went a long way towards explaining why Light wielders were all so erratic.

“To keep that sort of loose cannon around, let alone an entire Order of them, your kind must have been damn effective against the Shadow Council.” He folded his arms and watched the Human gather the scattered evidence back into the box. “The Horde’s law isn’t so forgiving.”

The Prince merely smiled. “To me, the law is like a favorite song. I’m not opposed to changing the music, but I always return to it in the end.” Returning the lid to the box and lifting it into his arms, Anduin stood up.

“Just watch how often you ‘change it’. I don’t have the powers to keep you out of trouble that your father does. That much lies with Thrall, as Warchief.”

“My father doesn’t put me above the law.” Anduin protested.

“No. You put yourself above the law. Varian just protects you from the fallout.” He said. “My position as Overlord will only go so far. Even if I do have Thrall’s ear.”

“I’ll behave.”

That didn’t fill him with a resounding confidence. “What do we do with him?”

“Leave him.” The Prince said. “He didn’t see us. And with how hard you hit him I highly doubt that he remembers his own name. Besides we have what we came for.”

Yes, the box full of murder weapons which aligned exactly with the causes of death of the four victims. “We’re done here, then?”

“In this matter yes. But I won’t be returning to the Tournament Grounds yet; Jaina will surely be able to offer at least some help with finding where the Black Knight is staying, because he doesn’t stay on the Grounds. That would be the most likely place we’d find the last piece we need to solve this puzzle and foil whatever plan the Lich King might have.”

“I thought Proudmoore was a part of the Kirin Tor’s delegation. Why wouldn’t she be on the Grounds?"

“She’s an Archmage. A part of the Council of Six. Has duties she must attend to in Dalaran that require her presence while she’d not at the games.” Anduin said. “I know that you’re not comfortable around magic-.”

“I’m not going to allow you to fly back through Icecrown alone.” Garrosh growled. “Besides, we still need to cover your scent. You can’t just go bounding off yet.”

“Oh, that’s…right.” Anduin had lost a considerable amount of his enthusiasm now. “I’d almost forgotten.”

Garrosh chuckled, taking the Prince’s chin in his hand again. Tilting his gaze up to meet his. “You didn’t seem opposed to being covered in blood and Scourge guts when we moved on Naxxramas.”

“Different context, Overlord.” He said, leaning in to his touch. “I don’t mind being splattered as a consequence of battle. Smearing blood all over my body solely for the hell of it, however…”

“You won’t be ‘smearing blood all over your body’, Kil’azi.” Garrosh told him, something almost predatory in his eyes. “I’ll be doing it for you. After all, we can’t risk you missing a spot.”

How, Anduin couldn’t help but wonder, had the prospect of him being dipped in blood manage to become in any way sexually charged? Feeling far hotter than he should have given the temperature outside and with his mouth very dry all the Prince could manage to get out was “we need to kill something first.”

“That isn’t going to take as long as you seem to be hoping.” Garrosh told him. “Let’s get back to our mounts, Kil’azi. Standing around like this is only wasting time.”

Anduin hefted the stone box against his chest, teetering but managing to keep his feet. Back bowing at an almost unnatural angle. The Overlord raised an eyebrow.

“Should I-?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Anduin-.”

Owlish blue eyes turned on him, peering standoffishly over the tip of the lid of the box the Human’s thin arms were only barely able to hold. “I’ve. Got. It.”

Sensing danger the Overlord acquiesced though he kept a careful eye on the Omega in case the weight became too much and a quick intervention was required to prevent the box from caving in his ribs. Still teetering and still stubborn, Anduin trudged after him back towards where they’d left their mounts and heaved the box-which Garrosh suspected weighed about as much as the Omega carrying it-up onto the hippogriff’s back. Tying it securely before dragging himself up after it.

“Where to, oh mighty hunter?” he chirped, playfulness in both his posture and his tone.

“I saw some Worgs a ways back, not far from a lake which you can use to wash the blood off once its set a while.” He said, prodding his wyvern into the air. “I can take a few of them down easily, and there’ll be more than enough blood to cover you from head to toe. Liberally.”

Anduin sighed and grimaced, one hand resting on the box before him to better secure it in place. “Light,” he said, “I’d never have imagined this, of all things, could possibly become so…heated.”

“In capable hands,” Garrosh informed him with a chuckle, “everything can become, as you say, ‘heated’. Why are you staring at me now?”

“Nothing, really. Just that you’ve been chuckling a lot today.” Anduin said. “You don’t seem the type to find much amusing. It’s nice to know I was wrong in that assessment.”

“I don’t find much amusing.”

“Just me?”

The Overlord grunted. “That much should go without saying.”

“Well,” he chirped, “I’m sure I’ll be more than able to find enough amusement for both of us. But really, we should get this over with.”

Their mounts once more kicking off from the ground the pair flew a few hundred yards to the west, Anduin trailing after Garrosh’s mount at just far enough a distance to reinforce his reluctance. Landing within sight of the small pack of Duskpelt Howlers, the little Prince hanging back to watch as the Orc cut the wolves down. Dismounting only once the last had crumpled with a painful whine, dragging his feet all the while.

“Come on, Kil’azi. The longer you delay the longer this is going to take.” Garrosh said.

Anduin fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable, and hugged one of his arms to his chest; a sign of distress which the Overlord had noticed the night prior as well. “I know. Nothing is going to be solved by stalling but…” the Prince hesitated, “never mind, it’s irrational.”

“No one’s out here with us.” Still the Omega didn’t seem comforted. Garrosh huffed, already resigned to traipsing around the vicinity to satisfy the Human’s hang-ups around nudity and fully reassure him that the Lich King himself wasn’t hiding behind a boulder in an effort to catch a glimpse. “Would you like me to check?”

Blue eyes turned up to him beseechingly, larger somehow than Garrosh recalled them being before. “You don’t need to do that.”

The puppy dog eye routine said otherwise. “Stay here.”

Ten minutes of beating bushes with his axe in an effort to chase off nonexistent voyeurs the Mag’har returned to the Omega’s side and looked down at him expectantly.

“Satisfied?”

“Thank you.” Anduin said, but still made no move to undress. By now well aware of what else was required to usher the blonde along the Alpha turned around without having the be asked, turning back only once the soft rustling of cloth had stopped.

The little Prince stood with his shoulders curled and head bowed, hands clasped before him to hide himself from view. Garrosh stepped forward, lightly gripping his shoulders and pulling them back. Hands sliding down his arms to pull them away and then lifting his chin to force those blue eyes up to meet his once again. Vibrant scarlet was painted across his cheeks.

“Don’t hide, Anduin. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” He said. “Let me see you.” Though plainly still uncomfortable the little Prince complied. Stepping back to allow the Overlord to see him fully and making a cheeky point of turning about on the spot.

“I know I’m not much,” he said, “but I hope that you like what you see regardless of that.”

“I’ll admit that there isn’t much of you, Kil’azi, but don’t confuse that with being the same as you not being much.” Garrosh lead the still reluctant Omega over to the nearest fallen worg. “You have nothing to be ashamed of and anyone who would see you like this would be privileged to do so.” A momentary pause before the Overlord added “they’d also best be fast runners. Or good at hiding. Because if I catch them afterwards…”

A small smile at last found its way onto Anduin’s face. “Is that a part of Orcish culture? Walking around without pants?” he asked. “I know that Durotar is a hot place but…sand. And sunburns.”

“A part of Orcish culture is being comfortable in our own skins, Wrynn.”

“I am comfortable in my own skin.” Anduin said. “When I’m alone.”

“That isn’t comfortable.” Garrosh informed him, but left it at that. “Do you know what else is a part of true Orcish culture? Of the Mag’har?”

Anduin’s head tilted to the side, curiosity glinting in his eyes. For the time being, at least, he seemed to have succeeded in refocusing his attention away from both his discomfort and his impending blood bath. “What?”

“When an Orc completes the Om’riggor and becomes a true member of the Warsong Clan they’re adorned with tattoos to mark their status as adults. Should they take a mate from another clan, or of another race, that mate would then face trails to become an honorary Warsong themselves. They’d receive tattoos as well, to make their status clear to all who see them. Enemy and ally alike.” Garrosh dipped his thumb into a puddle of blood, using it like ink to draw a curving line along Anduin’s chest. The line soon transforming into a complex pattern as the Prince looked on in fascination. “No two are ever the same but the message they convey always is.”

“An honorary Warsong?” the Prince ran his fingers over one of the bolder lines, the tacky blood smearing slightly as he did so. “They’re beautiful. But they won’t be red, I’d imagine. Yours aren’t.”

“They will be at first.”

The Prince grimaced. “It hurts, I’d imagine.”

Garrosh snorted. “It would hardly be a worthwhile rite of passage if it was painless. But I’m certain you’d find little trouble bearing it.”

That blush had returned. “High praise.”

“Hardly. It’s well deserved.” He said. “I look forward to the day that these are permanent. But we’ve spent enough time out here. Let your hair down.”

Anduin’s blue eyes widened, the reality of matters crashing back down atop him. “You’re putting blood in my _hair?”_

“You’re getting covered head to toe, unless you want Varian catching on to us.” Garrosh said. “There’s a lake a few yards to the south. You can wash it out before it dries.”

The Prince huffed and hesitated a moment longer before at last complying. Pulling the band free of his hair and setting it with the rest of his clothing, allowing the golden mane to fall down his back and about his shoulders. Though plainly still displeased with the matter the Omega, too his credit, stood and bore being drenched in half tacky wolf’s blood with only a few further agitated grumbles.

The frigid cold wasn’t enough to deter Anduin from leaping headlong into the lake. By the time he emerged, dripping wet and shivering violently, his skin was bitten pink.

“Did I g-g-get it all off-f?” how he managed to force anything through his violently chattering teeth Garrosh wasn’t quite sure.

“Yes.” Stepping forward, the Overlord wrapped the Paladin’s discarded cloak around the little Human’s quaking form. “Now dry off and put your clothes back on before you freeze. I doubt Thrall’s Mage would be pleased to see you turning blue.”

“I don’t think you would either.” Anduin chirped, attacking his hair-darkened with water and falling now in coiled tangles-with the cloak he’d worn out there before using it to dry his skin.

“I wouldn’t.” He agreed. “But that’s a given.”

“It’s a given with both of you.” Anduin pulled his shirt over his head. “I don’t call her ‘Aunt’ Jaina for no reason. I’ve known her for most of my life at this point. She’s an old friend of my father’s. They met through…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“It’s common knowledge that your father and Arthas, back when he was still a Princeling like you, were close. As close as brothers, even.” He snorted. “Just as its common knowledge how close he was with your ‘Aunt’.”

“They say he was a different man, then.” Anduin said. “A noble man before he fell. A Paladin, like me. The favorite student of Uther the Lightbringer himself.”

Garrosh’s golden eyes fell on him again. “You and Arthas are nothing alike. It’s be best I never hear you comparing yourself to the Lich King again, regardless of whether or not you claim he used to be in some way ‘noble’.”

Well aware that the matter at hand was no hill to die on Anduin bowed his head in acquiescence. “You’re right, Garrosh. Given where we are and all that’s happened it’s perhaps not the wisest equivalence to be drawing.” He said. “Shall we head up to Dalaran?”

Garrosh’s response was a half-disinterested grunt before calling his mount over. The Prince summoned the Argent hippogriff to his side and mounted up, lifting off from the forest floor with the Overlord just behind.

Dalaran’s floating form drew rapidly closer and soon enough they’d touched down in Krasus’ Landing. Leaving the hippogriff and wyvern they’d flown in on to be tended by the High Elf who stood beside the stables.

“Aunt Jaina should be in the Violet Citadel around this time of day.” He said, starting towards the street. “Hopefully she isn’t in the middle of a meeting. I’m not certain how long this matter will take, or even if there’s anything which she’ll be able to do for us.”

Restraining further grumblings about magic and resigning himself to further exposure to Thrall’s Mage Garrosh fell in behind Anduin, choosing instead to focus his attention on how the sunlight slanting down between the trees brought out tones of copper in the brazen curls falling haphazardly down his back. The citizens of Dalaran, Human Elf and otherwise, parted around them with little regard for their presence. A fact which suited them just fine as there was no delay in reaching the Violet Citadel.

Though not exactly a ‘formal meeting’ Thrall’s Archmage was with Rohnin when they arrived, both looking up at their entrance.

“Anduin.” Jaina said, her blue eyes taking in his damp state and widening. “By the Light, you’re wet! What are you doing running around Northrend like that! You’ll freeze!”

With a snap of her fingers his hair was dry and free of tangles, curling a bit more than usual as it fell about his shoulders. “Thank you, Aunt Jaina.”

“Of course.” The Archmage’s gaze shifted to Garrosh. “Does your father know you’re here. And who you’re with?”

“As well as why and, however reluctantly, has granted his approval as he knows that the matter I’ve been placed in charge of by the Highlord is one of the Argent Crusade.”

“A Cultist has infiltrated Fordring’s Tournament and is responsible for the murders which have since occurred on the premises.” Garrosh growled, posture almost threatening as he stared her down. Rohnin remained silent but watched things unfold with an expression of mild concern. “With the evidence we’ve managed to gather we could bring him to justice but the Princeling wants written documentation of the Lich King’s orders first. He believes your _magic_ ” he spat the word as if it were a horrible slur, “can help us get them.”

Anduin smiled apologetically when Jaina glanced over at him and mouthed “he doesn’t like magic much. Sorry.”

“You know who this supposed Cultist is I take it?” she asked.

He nodded, pushing a strand of blonde hair back out of his eyes. “The Black Knight.” Anduin told her, “I’m certain that the Lich King’s orders, if he still has them, are somewhere on the premises of where the Black Knight is staying; wherever it is it’s not on the Tournament Grounds. I was hoping there’d be something you could do to help us find that place.”

For a moment Jaina seemed to consider the proposal before nodding. “I think I may be able to.” She said. “Bring me a bridle from the stables and meet me in my office in the Purple Parlor. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Aunt Jaina.” Anduin said sincerely. “It shouldn’t take terribly long for us to get a bridle. Come on, Garrosh.”

The Prince was already bounding towards the door and didn’t catch the raised eyebrows the casual use of his name brought about but the Overlord did. Dismissing the pair of Mages with a harsh snort the Alpha turned and followed Anduin out of the Violet Citadel.

Whether it was because the stablemaster had prior experience with Anduin or knew what the expression on his face spoke of-calamity for someone through well-meaning efforts to do good-they received the bridle with little trouble and soon found themselves standing in the middle of Jaina Proudmoore’s office.

“I’m going to enchant this bridle to allow you to take control of the Black Knight’s mount and compel it to take you to where he’s been staying.” Taking the bridle which Anduin handed to her, she completed the spell in a flash of Arcane light. Beside and slightly behind him Garrosh cringed. “I don’t need to tell you to be careful?”

“You don’t.” Anduin assured her. “I promise that I’m doing everything I can to be careful. I think I’d have been trussed to the main support beam of the Horde’s faction tent by now if it were anything otherwise.”

The Mag’har snorted. “There’s only one situation in which I’d tie you up, Kil’azi, and it wouldn’t be in an effort to prevent you from doing something reckless.”

In varying degrees of amusement and concern the pair watched Anduin’s face cycle through five different shades of red before he sent a mild glare in the Alpha’s direction. “Why do you choose the worst possible times to make things weird?”

The amount of tusk bared in his smile would have made anyone else cower. “You call it weird I call it interesting.”

“You,” the little Paladin sighed “are unbelievable. Thank you, Jaina. I’ll make use of this bridle as soon as we get back to the Tournament Grounds. With all luck and grace this can be brought to an end by tomorrow.”

“I hope that to be the case.” Jaina said. “Could you give me a moment, Anduin, to speak with the Overlord?”

Well, he could be quite certain that a lecture was inbound. Anduin seemed to know it too as he hesitated.

“I’ll meet you outside, Wrynn.” Garrosh told him. “I think we should let Proudmoore say her piece. At least so that we won’t have to deal with it later.”

It was clear he was still unsure, but the Prince pushed as much aside and nodded before exiting the room. Now the Overlord found himself alone with the woman who was equally a friend to Varian and Thrall and her icy gaze made it plain their conversation was unlikely to be friendly.

“I’m aware, Garrosh, through correspondence with Thrall that your greatest aspiration is to see Stormwind burn.” He already didn’t like where this conversation was going. “This is not the road to take. Hurt him and it wouldn’t be a war you get it’ll be a slaughter; Varian will stop at nothing until the Horde’s been dismantled and he has your head on a pike! I’ve worked for too long and sacrificed too much to pave a road for peace at some point in the future to allow it all to be undone by some warmongering savage with something to prove! Not to mention the fact that he’s my _nephew_! And if you somehow manage to escape from Varian you will _not_ escape from me!”

“You have the wrong idea, Proudmoore.” Garrosh would have loved nothing more than to rage at her-the audacity of this woman to insinuate he’d _ever_ wish harm on his mate-but he knew that this flame was better doused than fanned. The last thing they needed was for the Proudmoore bitch to go running to Varian over the matter.

“Do I?”

“Yes!” He snarled, golden eyes flashing. “You do. I’ll never view Varian with anything but disdain but I do respect his misguided efforts to protect his son from the abominable practices of your race. A true Alpha, one worthy of that title, stands in defense of Omega regardless of whether they’re theirs. He deserves an Alpha at his side who understands that duty because he deserves to live as what he is instead of what he isn’t!”

Jaina pulled up short, hostility replaced with blindsided surprise. “You _know_?”

Of course he knew! He knew from the moment they’d met despite Wrynn’s best efforts but it was better he not allude that they were anything more than friends, let alone that they’d imprinted, lest she get it into her head to squeal. “In moments of fear instinct overruns training no matter how intense. When Kel’thuzad grabbed him he squalled, and if the Lich hadn’t blown himself to bits his secret would be out.” Now she really looked concerned. “What?”

Nothing.” She said, turning away. “It’s foolish to think that he’d…the Lich King knows what his servants know but he’s far too many greater threats at his door to be concerned with that.”

“Concerned with _what_?” Garrosh’s fists clenched so hard the hinges on his gauntlets creaked, the Arch Lich’s taunting words resurfacing. ‘A means to a new breed of Death Knight’. Anduin’s explanation of what his race used Omega for. The only children the little Prince would bare would be Hellscreams, and they’d come from willing unions. He would _never_ allow the Paladin to be used as a breeding mare for soldiers.

“Nothing, Overlord, as I’ve already stated. Now please, I’ve work to do and I think we’ve left Anduin waiting outside for long enough.”

She had a point, admittedly, with that much and able to guess well enough at what the Archmage refused to mention left forcing her to divulge as much rather redundant. With a last glare and low growl Garrosh exited the office.

He was met with a questioning chirp and a look of concern, the Omega easily picking up on his agitation. His answering rumble was meant to reassure him that all was well but the Human wasn’t buying it, sidling over and stopping just short of touching him. An expression of intense concentration crossed his face before his scent shifted slightly beneath the iron tang of wolf’s blood which had soaked into his skin. Though not as effective as it would have been had he known what he was doing some of the heat from his irritation ebbed away.

Huffing as if he’d just put out some great exertion Anduin propped himself up against the nearest wall. “Did that work?”

“You’re in sore need of practice but yes.” An Omega who knew what they were doing and whom was close enough to the Alpha in question could shift their pheromones to quench all but their most vicious rages. Admittedly Garrosh wasn’t certain he wanted Anduin to possess that amount of power over him. “Once you’ve settled yourself in Orgrimmar you should find another Omega to mentor you in being what you are.”

The Paladin nodded. “I think that might be a good idea. It would be nice just…to know what I’m supposed to about myself. To be free of false pretenses.”

“I’ll expect you after the Lich Kings been dealt with then.”

The little blonde snickered. “Not quite that soon, I’m afraid.”

“So, it’s no longer an ‘if’ but a ‘when’?” Garrosh’s grin was one of ferocious satisfaction.

Anduin blinked, momentarily bewildered. “I suppose.” He said. “Though I can’t say how far off that ‘when’ is.”

“Like I said, I can wait.” He told him, then pointed at the bridle. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Put it on the Black Knight’s griffon and force it to take me to his place of residence so that I can search it and hopefully find the last pieces of evidence we’ll need.”

“You’re going alone?”

“The griffon can only carry one and if I have company there’s too great a risk that I’ll be caught.”

Garrosh plainly didn’t like the matter but seemed to recognize he had a point. “The minute you’re back-.”

“I’ll come see you. It likely won’t be until very late tonight; it’d be easiest to avoid being seen under the cover of darkness.” Anduin said. “Can you watch the rest of the evidence in the meanwhile?”

“As I doubt I could convince you to risk being seen walking into my tent in broad daylight I’ll take it from you at the stables.” He said, “Should we be heading back?”

“Yes.” The Prince said. “We’ve been gone for most of the day and something tells me that a visit to my father is sorely due. Just to reassure him I haven’t crawled into a hole somewhere and frozen to death.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Garrosh grumbled.

“Sorry.” Though he didn’t really sound like he was. With the enchanted bridle in hand the pair began to make their way back towards Krasus’ Landing.


	12. Black Against Silver

Garrosh had taken the stone box of evidence from Anduin at the stables and, though the young Paladin had been just as reluctant to leave as the Alpha was to let him he’d kept his feelings well in hand and had bid the Overlord a warm farewell. Now, with the bridle securely in his bag, Anduin paused briefly outside his father’s tent to greet the royal guard before calling for permission to enter.

“Father, may I come in?”

A pause and then his father’s voice, rough with what sounded like sleep, answered “Anduin? Yes, come in.”

Pushing the flap of the tent aside the Prince ducked inside, the small fire crackling in the magic hearth keeping the inside pleasantly warm in comparison to the biting chill outside. It appeared that Anduin had been right; his arrival had disturbed the King midway through a nap. A fact he couldn’t help but feel at least a little guilty over the matter.

Though his armor, doubtlessly, was thoroughly chilled it didn’t stop Varian-despite wearing nothing but thin sleep pants-from sweeping him into a tight hug. A hug which ended almost immediately once the King caught his scent, swiftly switching him to arm’s length and looking the little blonde over critically.

“You smell like blood.” There was murder in his voice. “Are you alright? Who hurt you?”

“No one, dad! I’m fine! It’s wolf’s blood.”

“Wolf’s blood?” Varian repeated, paternal fury cooling into confusion. One dark eyebrow tilted upwards and the King’s scarred face painted with amusement. “Did you roll in it?”

“…It was a lot of wolves.” Anduin didn’t know what else to say and fought desperately not to think of the sensation of Garrosh’s rough warm hands rubbing him down with a liberal coating of blood.

“I’m sure it was.” The Prince could hear the amusement in his voice, thumping him gently on the shoulder. “There’s a bit of a Warrior in you after all.”

Anduin was well aware of just how anemic his smile was. “I suppose.” He said. “But it isn’t a surprise. I am your son.”

“Yes. You are.” The King drew him in close again, and this time Anduin wrapped his arms around his waist and let his head rest against his father’s massive chest. The chorded line of an old scar pressed against his cheek. “I’m proud of you, Anduin. I’ve always been proud of you. And no matter what happens I always will be.”

Guilt boiled up within him yet again, threatening to spill over. Ferociously the Prince pushed it back down again. “I know.” He said. “I’m sorry about waking you.”

“You didn’t.” A lie. Both of them knew it. Anduin smiled against his father’s skin. “I was just…lying down.”

“But not sleeping.”

“No.” He said. “No, not sleeping. How goes the murder case?”

“Well. I’ve managed to gather almost all the evidence I need, and with the help I’ve gotten from Aunt Jaina I should have the last piece tonight. Light willing, I’ll have put a stop to the Black Knight by this time tomorrow.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Varian said, releasing him at last and taking a step back. “Not only will the murders end and whatever plot the Lich King has running be thwarted but I’ll know you’re safely back to your regular duties. And well away from Garrosh Hellscream.”

About that… “yes father.” Anduin dipped his head and cleared his throat. “Did you ever manage to get that rematch out of him?”

Varian let out a derisive snort. “No. Hellscream seems to be as aware as I am that his victory was a fluke and doesn’t want to risk that reality coming to light in the ring.”

“You’re fighting for your pride.”

“In a situation where I can’t kill him, I can hardly fight for anything more important.” He grunted.

“Well, maybe Ga-.” Catching himself Anduin quickly amended “maybe the Overlord is?”

Varian’s blue eyes were reduced to a sharp grey by the wan light slanting in through the cloth roof of the tent. “Like what?”

The ‘rights’ he’d mentioned when Anduin had brought the matter up to him before and which he now suspected were courting rights. Unable to safely point that out the Prince simply settled for a shrug. “I don’t know. Love?”

“Love?” he spat, becoming agitated. “Their kind isn’t capable of love, Anduin! Never make the mistake of thinking otherwise!”

“That’s rather harsh!”

The King snarled. “It isn’t harsh at all, or have you forgotten what happened to your grandfather?”

“No! Of course not. How could I?”

“I made the mistake of seeing Garona as a sister and she was only half-Orc. Even Human blood isn’t enough to dilute their savagery. Their evil.”

Evil? Maybe while under the influence of the Fel a case could be made that the Orcs were evil but even then Anduin couldn’t help but think that ‘evil’ was going too far. “Arthas was Human. Medivh was Human. It’s more than uncharitable, not to mention inaccurate, to suggest that only Orcs can be evil father.”

“I didn’t say only Orcs _could_ be evil. I simply said that Orcs _are_ evil.”

“You really believe that?” Anduin asked. “Shouldn’t be view them all as individuals like we would a Human. Or any other race, for that matter.”

Varian heaved a heavy sigh, the agitation draining from him and leaving the King looking many years older. “When you say things like that, things like my father used to say, I worry for you. He trusted their kind and it killed him.” He said. “You’re gentle, Anduin. And you have a good heart. Too good.”

The young Prince cracked a smile. “I think I’d rather die because I stuck to what I believe in than live because I didn’t.”

The King sighed again. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“But did you expect anything else?”

“No.” Varian said bluntly. “And that’s the worst part.”

“Can I ask a rhetorical question?”

His father paused, appearing for a moment as if he was sizing him up. Debating whether or not he wanted to open the door and see just what Anduin was talking about. “…Yes.”

“I know the laws, of course. Against miscegenation. But no one’s ever been persecuted for it since, well, punishing victims is an indefensible practice. What would happen if…well, should someone be found to willing be…willingly be…um…”

“Sleeping with the enemy?” the King’s tone was dire and Anduin couldn’t help but shrink before it. “It wouldn’t be miscegenation I’d have them charged with. It’d be treason.”

“Treason?” he repeated, slack jawed. “I…but father, the punishment for treason against the crown is-!”

“Death. I’m aware.” Varian growled. “And death is all that anyone of Stormwind blood deserves if they’d lay with a beast. Without exception.”

“Even me?”

“You know better! And you’ll never be so much as acquainted with one of them in even a vague capacity if I’ve anything to say on the matter. And I’ve quite a lot to say on the matter, both as your father and your King.” Those piercing eyes fell on him again, gaze running him through like spears. “Why are you asking about such things?”

“Well, it’s just…Jaina and Thrall seem really close and I’m kind of concerned. About the nature of their relationship. What with the rumors and all.”

“Your Aunt is Kul Tiran and, though still under my authority, is afforded considerable room to…maneuver as she sees fit. If she wishes to make unwise decisions so be it, though they won’t pass without harsh words.” He said. “You’ve taken enough after her example already to be emulating _that_ as well.”

Anduin dipped his head. “Yes father.”

“Speaking of Jaina,” from the slight softening of Varian’s tone the Prince could tell the subject of their conversation was about to change, “what did she give you? To help with your investigation?” The young Paladin gladly reached into his bag and pulled out the bridle, the leather gleaming with the faint violet sheen of the Arcane as it twisted about his fingers. “You could have gotten that at the Tournament’s stables.”

Anduin snickered. “It’s enchanted, father. When I put it on the Black Knight’s griffon it’ll be forced to take me to where he’s been staying. I plan to search it top to bottom while he’s away.”

“And this compatriot of yours that you’ve been working with? The one who I hope you’ve had around to watch your back. Will they be coming as well?”

Anduin shook his head. “Too much risk we’ll be seen if I don’t go alone.”

Varian clearly didn’t like it, but much to the Prince’s relief he didn’t immediately try to stop him. “The minute you return-.”

“I’ll come see you.” Just as soon as he got back from assuring Garrosh of his safety. Though of that much his father didn’t need to know.

“Right away?”

“Right away.” Anduin promised. “Should I request entry or-?”

“Just come in.” The King told him.

The Prince smiled. “Of course. Thank you, father.”

“Off to the races, then?”

“After patrols. I need to wait until darkness falls to ensure I’ve the lowest chance of being seen.” He said.

“Be careful.” Varian said. “Please.”

“I will.” Anduin said as he headed back towards the flap of the tent. “I promise.”

Pausing briefly at his own tent to slip the scent wash into his pack alongside the enchanted bridle, the Prince set out on his usual route. His fur lined cloak rippling behind him and his sabatons leaving a trail of footprints in the snow. While passing through the Horde encampment he made a point of discretely searching the area and smiled when he met the burning gaze of golden eyes.

By the time he finished with his round of patrols darkness had fallen and the sky above him was a flat and starless black. Cautiously, eyes out for any sign of movement and taking great care not to allow his armor to clank together, Anduin picked his way across the ice towards where the Black Knight’s griffon was tethered to a post. Clad in feathers of glossy onyx and with a beak which looked a bit too sharp to be natural the beast turned its head to regard him with narrowed eyes.

“Evening, pretty bird.” He said, pulling out the bridle and edging cautiously forward. “I’ve got something for you. I’m sure you’ve been out here for a while. Want to head out for a fly?”

The word ‘fly’ made the griffon perk up, its beak clicking. Anduin slipped the bridle on over its head and untied it from the post. Getting a firm but gentle grip on the ruff of feathers on its neck the Prince swung himself up onto the Black Knight’s mount and settled comfortably behind its withers. Nudging the bird forwards and up into the frigid air. Allowing the Black Knight’s mount to take him up and over Icecrown’s frozen peaks and to its master’s lair: a run down two story balanced precariously on the slanting edge of a jagged mountainside.

Breath rising before him in silver clouds Anduin crept cautiously forward into the dangerously leaning structure, well aware that the light he called to illuminate his way was visible for miles and in constant fear that the building would slide off the edge of the cliff into the abyss and take him with it.

After searching the house from the bottom up Anduin found what he was looking for in the corner of a room on top of a pile of empty wooden crates: a rolled-up parchment and the instantly recognizable shape of a stolen invitation to the Tournament. Picking both up, the Prince opened the unfamiliar parchment and swiftly read over the writing inside. A bold black unfamiliar hand.

‘Sow distrust and discord among the ranks of our enemies. Use this Tournament to destroy their greatest warriors.’

“I’ve got you now, bastard.” Anduin growled, slipping both documents into the pack at his side before rushing back to where he’d left the griffon waiting and winged away back towards the Tournament Grounds.

Dismounting swiftly and pausing only long enough to remove the enchanted bridle from the griffon Anduin took off at the fastest speed he could manage without looking outright suspicious. Heart thudding in his chest and eyes darting wildly about the Prince had almost managed to make it into the Horde encampment when a hand clamped over his mouth and strong but unfamiliar arms dragged him back into the darkness between two tents. His back colliding hard with the front of a chest piece. The sour smell of Alpha aggression overwhelming him as his captor’s grip tightened. Wrenching free a squawk of pain.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you sniffing around? Or maybe you thought your position would keep you safe from everything, Prince Wrynn? Even royalty needs to mind where they stick their noses lest something bite it off!” Anduin squirmed in the Black Knight’s grip but failed to get free. His struggles only intensifying as the older man pressed his face into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. Pushing bared teeth against where he’s scent gland lay hidden with enough force to raise concerns he’d bite. He’d known that he was risking his life to investigate what the Black Knight was doing, that he might turn up murdered next, but he’d never considered he might end up being assaulted in this way. Forcibly marked by an Alpha that he hadn’t accepted. Tears welling in his eyes he flailed wildly but yet again failed to get free. The Black Knight laughed cruelly. “Fragrant, aren’t you? Especially when you’re afraid. Holding you this close I can still smell you, just barely, even under all that wolf blood and fake pheromones and _Orc_. A real pity I can’t have you for myself, though lucky for you because I’d just have left you like the others once I was finished. Lucky for you the Master wants you alive.”

Just as suddenly as the Black Knight had grabbed him Anduin found himself released and pushed roughly down into the snow.

“I’ll see you in the ring, Wrynn.” His plat footsteps clattered away, leaving Anduin alone with the wind and cold. Shaking violently and with his face as white as the ice around him the Prince hastily picked himself up and bolted for the Overlord’s tent. Barreling through the opening and taking a flying leap at his Alpha, entirely disregarding Thrall’s presence and almost knocking Garrosh flat.

“What in the elements? Kil’azi!” As strong, this time familiar arms wrapped around him the little Prince couldn’t quite manage to bite down on the low whine which slipped between his teeth. His attempts to press closer were to no avail in no small part due to the armor both were still wearing. When Garrosh spoke again his voice was a ferocious snarl. “What happened?”

“He knows.” He said. “He caught me.”

“Did that bastard hurt you?”

“No. He grabbed me but…I’m just shaken up is all. Very badly shaken up.”

‘Obviously’ went unsaid. “I can smell him on you.” The jealousy which permeated his Alpha’s tone went miles to chase the cold lingering fear away. “What did he do?”

“No more than what I said, though he did push me down.” Anduin told him. “Between my plate armor and the depth of the snow I won’t even bruise from that.”

Garrosh still looked like he wanted to rip the Black Knight’s head off his shoulders, but loosened his grip enough to allow Anduin to step back. “Did you get what you were after?”

“Yes. I have both the stolen invitation which he used to gain entry into the Tournament and orders written by a known Lich, Lady Deathwhisper. Combined with everything else we’ve found it’s a certainty that we’ll put an end to him tomorrow.” Anduin said. “When I face him in the ring.”

The Overlord’s grip tightened again. “He challenged you?”

“After jumping me, yes.” He said. “And I’m worried too. Though he said his ‘Master’, presumably Arthas himself, wants me alive for reasons I’d rather not assume I wouldn’t put it past him to have lied to me and be lying in wait to drop a boulder on my head the moment I leave.”

“Then don’t.” Garrosh said, putting himself between Anduin and the door. “Stay here. I can protect you. No matter what the bastard tries he won’t be getting through me.”

“Garrosh.” Thrall warned. “That isn’t wise.”

“Wise?” the Alpha snarled, turning on him now. Paying no mind to Anduin’s efforts to calm him. “And why not? He’s done it before.”

“What?” now the Warchief sounded horrified. “Do either of you have any idea what you risked by doing that? What Varian-.”

_“ **I won’t let my mate be killed because you’re too afraid of varian to risk a real fight with the Humans!**_ ” The Overlord roared, eyes glowing a ferocious gold. Despite being slightly shorter than the older Orc the massive Warsong still somehow managed to loom far above him. “ ** _A true Orcish Warchief-!”_**

**_“Stop!”_** Anduin’s voice rang with all the practiced authority of a King in waiting and both Orcs jumped as if they’d forgotten he was there. “If you wish to argue over the ins and outs of being a ‘proper Orcish Warchief’ and being ‘afraid of a real fight with the Humans’ who, need I remind you, are _my people_ so be it but I will not allow myself to be the catalyst. Regardless, I can’t stay tonight. I promised my father the same thing I promised you: that I’d check in to let him know that I’m ok.”

“He’ll smell that you’ve been here.”

“Not tonight he won’t.” Anduin pulled out the scent wash he’d slipped into his bag earlier. “I can’t risk the Black Knight smelling his home on me, after all. It would raise suspicion and potentially lead him to bolt before he’s brought to justice.”

“If you’re going to use that in my tent do so near the door, Kil’azi. Those artificial pheromones reek.” Garrosh grumbled. The Omega flashed a somewhat self-conscious smile and moved closer to the entrance of the tent before stripping off his plate and upending the vial over his head. Not the most thorough job he’d ever done, but it would pass. “At least let me walk you back to the Alliance encampment. I don’t like the thought of you alone out there.”

“Varian has Stormwind guards patrolling the area. If you go with him, you’ll be spotted for sure.” Thrall said.

“I won’t have him out there by himself. Not now!” Garrosh snarled.

“And he won’t be. I’ve a solution.” Anduin hadn’t seen much of Shamanic magic before so precisely what Thrall did alluded him, but a moment later a pair of spirit wolves flanked the Warchief on either side. “These spirits will escort you to your father’s tent, Prince Wrynn.”

“Thank you, Warchief.” Anduin said as the wolves circled around to stand beside him. Blue eyes turned to Garrosh again. “Goodnight, Garrosh. I’ll see you at the ring?”

“If you think I’m going to let you face the Black Knight alone you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t trust the Scourge not to pull something dirty.” The Overlord growled. As Anduin turned to leave the tent, the pale blue wolves trotting at his feet, he could have sworn he heard his Alpha say “sleep well.”

The only thing to light his way was the faint glow of his spectral companions. Snow and wind swirled about his head and tugged at his cloak. The rippling fabric of the darkened tents all around him were almost ridiculously threatening as he hurried along, head down. Ultimately reaching the Alliance’s encampment unscathed.

Just within sight of his father’s tent, the Royal Guards stationed outside hazy figures in the snow, the Prince turned to his escorts and crouched down to their height. Meeting their cautiously curious gazes. “Thank you.” He said softly. “I think I’ll be alright now.”

The wolves looked at each other and then back at Anduin before turning away and retreating into the snow-blind night. Casting a last cautious glance around him the Crown Prince approached his father’s tent and, after bidding the guards a brief greeting, stepped inside.

“Father?”

“Anduin.” The King was still clad in his ceremonial plate and looked as if he’d only recently returned from that night’s games. “You’ve returned.”

“I have.”

“You’re safe?”

Anduin nodded. “I think so.”

His father’s brow furrowed in concern but he didn’t ask him to elaborate. Instead resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You used another wash? Already?”

“I couldn’t risk him smelling me.” Anduin said smoothly; it was enough of a truth that he didn’t feel too terribly guilty. “I found the last of the evidence I needed. I’ll be facing the Black Knight in the ring tomorrow.”

The concerned expression on his father’s face deepened. “All of the other contestants who were slated to do so were killed before they could.” The Prince nodded. “You’re staying with me tonight. And until the Black Knight’s been brought to justice you go no where without at least three guards. At all times.”

Anduin dipped his head. “Yes father.”

“Get your things. Take Cromwell with you.”

“Yes father.” Accompanied by the mentioned guard, one of the two who had been standing outside the King’s tent, Anduin quickly gathered what he needed from his tent and returned.

“I’ve considerable paperwork to take care of and won’t be getting much sleep tonight anyway. Take the bed.”

“Thank you, father, but I can’t do that in good conscious.” Anduin said. “I’ll sleep by the fire.”

“Nest, you mean?” cheeks tinting pink the Prince averted his eyes. The King sighed. “You can’t get into the habit of doing this Anduin.”

“I know.” He said, swallowing thickly. “It’s just…it’s hard.”

“I really do wish things could be different. That you didn’t have to hide what you are. To constantly live in fear. But despite my best efforts this is the way things are.” Varian shook his head. “No one would dare enter my tent without permission so you may do so, but only for tonight. Get some sleep.”

“Yes father.” Arranging what he’d brought with him and once more removing his plate, Anduin curled up into the blankets. Feeling the warmth of the fire radiate against his skin and sink into the furs. Listening to the crackle of flames and the scratch of his father’s quill against parchment until he finally dropped off into sleep.

The next morning was tense for all of them, in no small part due to the presence of three Stormwind Royal Guard every where he went, even on patrols. Their presence got him mostly hostile looks from the Horde encampment, and a few raised eyebrows from the group of Trolls he remembered as the same who’d attended the table the day he’d found himself eating an impromptu second breakfast at the Overlord’s behest. Speaking of Garrosh the Overlord of the Warsong Offensive soon made his appearance blocking their path.

“Overlord Hellscream.” Anduin took care to prevent too much familiarity from permeating his voice, all too aware of how tense the men behind him had become. The King, no doubt, had left clear orders to keep the two apart. “I apologize for what hostility my company might imply, but due to an investigation the Argent Crusade has placed me in charge of my safety may be in the balance. As such my father wished to ensure I didn’t end up the next victim.”

His Alpha looked over the three men behind him and snorted dismissively. “Your father thinks that _they_ can protect you if worst comes to worst?” he spat. “Put together they’re not worth even one of my Orcs. If that’s the best Stormwind has to offer its Prince perhaps you’d be better off making use of your Argent status and exchange them for a proper escort.”

“A proper escort?” Anduin cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“A Warsong escort. A _real_ warrior that this rampant murderer wouldn’t dare approach.” Garrosh said. “Even playing bodyguard to a runty Human Prince would be more interesting than standing around the encampment all day listening to Earthfury’s ceaseless lecturing.”

“With all respect Overlord, and though I’m grateful for your offer, the Royal Guard of Stormwind are well trained and dedicated to the House of Wrynn. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the fact that you’ve saved my life before or that I’m ungrateful for it, but I don’t think it wise to further antagonize my father.”

Another dismissive noise. “Suit yourself, Princeling. I hope you don’t regret it.”

The Royal Guard were quick to whisk him away after that.

His fellow Crusaders also appeared confused by the presence of his escort but most simply accepted his explanation and moved on. Though it relieved some of the concern he’d turn a corner and find himself dead before he hit the snow the tradeoff was being unable to slip away and spend a bit of down time with his mate, even if it would have amounted to little more than hiding in his tent, and so once his patrol was over Anduin returned to the Alliance encampment and joined a handful of champions from the Exodar over warm drinks.

The Black Knight’s challenge, which had apparently been scheduled some days before while the under the table investigation had left him unaware, was the talk of the encampment and he was showered in encouragement to put him in his place. Not just for the Argent Crusade but for the Alliance as well.

Anduin spent the last hour prior to the match in prayer in an effort to prevent his nerves from overwhelming him. When the time finally came for the match to begin Anduin steeled himself and turned towards where he’d left Fearbreaker propped against a support beam only to have his blood run cold.

The mace was gone, replaced with a broad sword. Sturdy. Silver. Standard issue. All the same, Anduin didn’t trust it. Cautiously examining the area around the weapon and then the sword itself before finally picking it up. The sheen of the blade seemed off somehow; narrowing his eyes the Prince brought the weapon closer to his face and quickly recoiled from the sharp scent of bitter almonds.

_Poisoned._ But why in the Light would the Black Knight replace his weapon with a sword with a tainted blade when his former M.O. would suggest he’d have used it against him instead? If not in an effort to stage a fatal accident to take Anduin’s life in the ring, what was he playing at? To avoid being brought to justice by tricking the Prince into inadvertently killing him with an otherwise trivial wound? It would certainly be a possibility if he was right about the nature of the poison: a mixture of Fadeleaf, Nightmare Vine and Lichbloom which would have made a Royal Apothecary’s eyes water.

If he didn’t replace the blade he’d been slipped the fight ahead of him would be nearly impossible to win if he wanted to take the bastard in for a thorough questioning. Unfortunately he hadn’t the time to spare to search out another stand in.

“Prince Wrynn.” One of his guards called. “The gate will be drawing up in another minute.”

“Thank you.” He briefly considered requesting to switch weapons before discording the idea as irresponsible. Holding the toxic blade cautiously before him the Prince made his way to the North gate of the ring. Stepping out into the light when the little door drew open to raucous applause.

Anduin took a moment to scan the stands, finding both his father and Garrosh watching him looking equally concerned and confused by the fact that the Paladin was wielding a blade in place of his usual mace. But his attention was soon redirected to where the Black Knight stood. Looming at the far end of the ring, small cold eyes glaring out from beneath his helm. Anduin felt fear curl icily in his belly but forced himself not to let it show, pulling back his shoulders and glaring back at the murderer.

When the horn which marked the start of the match blew the Black Knight charged him, covering an incredible amount of ground in the blink of an eye. Not about to allow him to come close enough to where their weapons would be necessary, Anduin called on the Light. The golden blades which erupted from the ground forcing his opponent back. The Prince used the opportunity to put distance between them, more than slightly vindicated by the furious snarl the other man spat out.

Calling again on the Light and gripping the handle of the hammer which formed in his hand Anduin took aim at the other man’s exposed back. The Black Knight spun around and knocked the projectile aside.

“Are you a Paladin or are you a Priest, ‘Prince’?” he growled. “With all the magic you’re using I can’t tell.”

Anduin circled around his opponent and took aim again. Throwing up a Divine Shield when the Alpha lunged inside of his strike and jabbed at him. The Prince danced away. Bounding backwards out of reach.

“Is running all you have, Wrynn?” the Black Knight snarled. “For the son of such a great warrior I have to say I’m disappointed!”

“Unlike a warrior I don’t rely on my rage for strength. Nor do I let it dictate my behavior.” Anduin said. “You’ll have to do better than that if you seek to get a rise out of me.”

He needed to find a way to end this battle quickly without using the tainted weapon in his hand. The man was bigger than him by a considerable margin and an Alpha to boot and the likelihood he’d be able to physically subdue him was very low. His best bet would be to attempt to knock him cold with a single well aimed judgment to the head.

_Light guide my arm._ His blow struck true, colliding with the Black Knight’s helm with an audible clang and knocking it off, but much to his surprise his opponent didn’t go down. A second charge closed the remaining distance between them and, before he could react, he’d been grabbed and put into a painful chokehold. Squirming was less of a conscious thought and more of a spur of the moment reaction and the Black Knight recoiled. The first thing that registered once Anduin had stumbled and caught his feet was the blood on the blade in his hand. The second was the shallow cut on the older man’s cheek, stretched tight beneath a savage grin.

“All to plan, Wrynn.” His skin was already turning ashy as the poison did its work. “You lose.”

Through the shock of seeing someone drop dead at his feet Anduin didn’t immediately register that he’d been joined in the ring by a small crowd of Argents. His father and the Highlord among them.

“Anduin!” He almost leapt out of his skin when his father shook him.

“Prince Wrynn.” His gaze snapped immediately to Tirion. The older Paladin’s expression was grim. More severe than he’d ever seen it before. “You’ve killed a man.”

“Not by my fault, Highlord. He replaced my weapon with a poisoned blade. I did everything that I could to avoid this happening. This is all a part of some Cult of the Damned-.”

“Anduin.” Now, by contrast, Tirion sounded very old. “I will never understand your fixation with this idea that the Black Knight was an agent of Arthas.”

“What are you talking about, Tirion?” Varian asked. “You put him at the head of the investigation.”

“With all due respect, King Wrynn, there _is_ no investigation.”

Two sets of eyes fell on him then, each demanding an explanation. Anduin immediately pulled himself up and stood firm. “I won’t apologize for doing what I had to do in order to put a stop to the murders. When I brought matters to your attention, Highlord, you dismissed them so I took things into my own hands. I’ve proof that he’s an agent of the Cult of the Damned. A stolen invitation. Orders from Lady Deathwhisper. A murder kit his squire was attempting to bury out in the Crystalsong Forest.”

“You can’t deny that kind of proof, Tirion.” Varian said. “That my son acted against orders is another matter, though in light of the situation-.”

“We’ll evaluate the matter at a later time, your Majesty.” Tirion turned to Anduin. “Where is this evidence?”

Reaching into his pack the Prince quickly removed the documents and handed them over. “Here are the stolen invitation and the written orders I recovered from the Black Knight’s place of residence. The contents of the murder kit taken from his squire and the journal recovered from the Valgan Stead disproving his story are-.” Anduin cut himself off, coming to the horrible realization that in all the panic of the night before he’d forgotten to remove the evidence from Garrosh’s tent. The game was up. He could already visualize the bars on his windows and was suddenly unable to bring himself to look at his father. “The rest of the evidence is in the custody of my compatriot.”

“And who would they be?”

“’They’ would be me.” Garrosh had made his way over from the Horde stands at some point during the argument and threw the burlap bag he was holding to the ground at their feet. The journal they’d found in Silverpine flopping out with a limp thump. “Have your ‘evidence’, Paladin.”

Anduin honestly felt as if death itself were staring him down and it took almost everything he had not to give into the Omegan instinct to display contrition and compliance in the face of the obviously seething Alpha beside him. “Father, I-I can explain.”

“Explain?” Varian snarled. “No, Anduin, I’m going to ‘explain’ something to you. You asked for my trust, asked me to treat you as an adult, and when I do so you throw it immediately back into my face. There’s nothing _to_ explain!”

“I-!”

“No! You’ve done enough!” Varian snapped, then turned to Tirion. “My son, as of now, is no longer a part of the Argent Crusade and he will never be returning. He’ll be leaving for Stormwind tonight.”

“But-!”

_“I said enough, Anduin!”_

When the Prince flinched and shrank back Garrosh stepped forward, a defensive growl thundering from his chest. Varian rounded on him, face twisted into a brutal snarl, but before anything could come of the friction between them the Highlord intervened.

“King Wrynn, Overlord Hellscream, now is not the time!” The aged Alpha didn’t raise his voice but the authority in his words was enough to make both the Human King and the Orcish Overlord break their challenging glare. “Where I respect your right as his King and as his father to remove him from my Crusade in light of what’s happened I cannot allow him to leave the Tournament Grounds until the matter with the Black Knight has been resolved.”

Varian snarled again. “Very well, Fordring. But the instant this has been resolved my son returns to Stormwind. On a permanent basis.” He said. “Anduin. We’re leaving. Now!” Eyes down cast and head hung low the Prince trailed his father out of the ring and back to the Alliance’s encampment. “Stop here. Once I’ve finished you go straight to bed.”

“Yes father.” Stood out in the cold just outside his tent the young Paladin could only be grateful most in attendance were still at or near the ring.

“Do you have any idea how disappointed in you I am, Anduin? To lie to me like this? To consort with the _Horde_ behind my back? I can hide you, I can train you, I can do my damndest to keep you in line but continue to act like this and I’ll never be able to trust you on the Lion Seat. You’re the future of the House of Wrynn. The only future that we have! You. Alone. Do you _realize_ that?”

“Yes, father.”

“Do you want our House to crumble?”

“No, father.” Anduin couldn’t recall a time in his life when he’d ever felt more ashamed.

“If you ever seen the world beyond Elwynn Forest again you’d better count yourself lucky.”

“Yes father.”

“Go to bed!” The King said shortly. “Wyall will be bringing you all your meals from here forward. You won’t be leaving until the time comes for you to head to Dalaran for a portal back to Stormwind. And Stormwind is where you’re going to stay for as long as I retain the authority to say anything about it.”

Anduin hung his head further.

“You’ve done enough as it is. So, for once in your life, do as you’re told!”

“Yes, father.” Feeling as if his blood had been replaced with liquid shame the young Prince of Stormwind slunk away into the darkness of his tent.


	13. A Lingering Suspicion

Garrosh had not reacted well to the sight of Anduin half-cowering as he followed his father out of the ring. Had raged, once back in the privacy of his tent in the Horde encampment, at the prospect of the little Prince being sent back to Stormwind. Claimed that Varian was a danger to his son and had harmed him on more than one occasion. Demanded a full scale move against the Alliance Capital the moment that the Scourge had been dealt with. It was only barely that he’d been able to talk the younger Orc down and had left his student soon afterwards, still fuming but somewhat calm, to sleep the matter off and hopefully find him clearer headed in the morning. Back out in Northrend’s biting cold the Warchief of the Horde had dared, for just a moment, to allow himself to think he might just manage to find a few hours’ somewhat peaceful rest.

That had been his mistake.

“ ** _Thrall!_** ” A shout from behind him, as unmistakable as the roar of an infuriated lion. And, in a way, that was precisely what the Human King was. The Warchief didn’t need to turn to know who it was, beyond any doubt. Didn’t need to look to be well aware the man was furious and absolutely out for blood. But he did so anyway. Just in time to find himself pinned to the wall of one of the few buildings in the area built from something more solid than tent canvas by the Warrior’s unyielding breastplate. A taloned gauntlet cladding a hand nearly the size of an Orc’s planted firmly to one side of his head and Shalamayne biting deep into the wall on the other.  The flame bracketed between the prongs of the blade splitting in the cold and throwing a horrific light across the King’s scarred face, twisting it into a rictus of utter fury.

At range Thrall wouldn’t have felt threatened by the Alpha, even furious and plainly gunning for him as he was, but pinned in close quarters was a wholly different story. Varian was fast, he knew as much well by now, and more ferocious than a starved and rabid wolf. There was about a fifty-fifty shot, perhaps even a forty nine fifty one shot tilted in the King’s direction, that attempting to call on the Elements now might get him killed before he could voice a single spell.

It would certainly provoke him, at the very least.

In the guttering glow of the legendary blade the King’s eyes appeared to belong to something feral. Inhuman. Closer in color to the amber of a wild dog or wolf than their usual blue. The sight of them was a stark reminder of the other name the High King was known by, Lo’gosh, and how it was often said that the Wolf Spirit was in him.

“Varian.” He spoke slowly, keeping his voice even and calm. Mindful not to make any sudden moves by mistake. “You don’t want to do this.”

A guttural growl forced its way from behind the man’s clenched teeth before he found his voice. Tendons standing out in stark relief along the sides of his thick neck. “I will warn you, Orc, and I will warn you only once. My tolerance of your kind here has been out of respect for Tirion and what he’s done thus far for the war effort against the Lich King, but my _patience_ is at end.” He snarled. “Keep a leash on Hellscream and keep him well away from _my son_! If I catch any hint of him within ten miles of Anduin _ever again_ I will kill you both! The Argent Tournament and the Scourge be damned!”

“I understand that you’re upset, but I suggest that you mind your threats.” Thrall said. “I will advise my student to behave, though ancestors know he’s as unlikely to listen to me as your son is to listen to you.” He was toeing a dangerous line, of that much he was well aware even without having to hear the King’s snarl, but Thrall wasn’t about to allow Varian to force him into submission. “And I’d also advise you to remember both where you are and all that’s at stake here. What’s ultimately more important, at least in the short term. And what your responsibilities are as the highest authority within the Alliance. You’re justified in wanting to protect your family but a leader must know when to lay matters aside to be returned to at a later time.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me, green skin!”

“It isn’t a lecture, Varian. It’s advice.” The Warchief said. “I’d also advise you to leave. Go back to the Alliance encampment, or at least to fully neutral ground, before the next Argent Patrol comes through and sees you kicking up a fuss. I doubt you want to suffer the embarrassment of being permanently ejected from the Tournament Grounds.”

The Human growled again, low and guttural in his massive chest, but backed down. The sculpted claws on the gauntlet he’d slammed into the building’s wall coming free with a series of sharp pops before he reached up his other hand. Wrenching Shalamayne free in a shower of splinters; leaving an impressive gouge in the wall. Without another word he turned on his heel and stalked away, his hulking form vanishing rapidly into the dark and taking the sound of snow crunching underfoot with him.

Alone, now, Thrall released a heavy sigh. Thank the elements Varian had only learned that Anduin had gone behind his back and kept Garrosh’s company after being expressly told not to rather than the deeper truth that his Omegan son, who’d hidden all his life beneath the guise of an Alpha, had taken an Orc for his chosen life mate.

Spirits help them all when that reality inevitably came to light. Hopefully it would be at a time when a full-scale war between the Alliance and the Horde could be afforded. Of that much, the Warchief had his doubts. But he sincerely hoped that the secret held at least until Arthas had been finally unseated from the Frozen Throne.

 

“Your Highness, it’s been three days. You need to eat.”

Curled listlessly atop the furs which draped his cot in the Crown Prince’s tent which had become his prison Anduin barely registered the worry in his manservant’s voice. Eyes unfocused as he stared at the opposite wall. Watching but not recognizing the fact that the dark blue canvas was rippling wildly in the gusting Icecrown winds.

In the past, whenever he’d lost his appetite, he’d at least made an effort to eat. A few bites of fruit at breakfast. A chunk of bread at dinner. A middling nibble of desert. All in an effort to assuage the concerns of those around him but those times, feeling a bit ill or simply disenchanted for that day or that hour with the prospect of eating, weren’t like this. This was very different. It wasn’t lack of hunger. It wasn’t a childish effort to engender sympathy from those around him for his situation. The Prince simply didn’t feel like being put through repeated rounds of vomiting when he was already so exhausted.

His Omega was in uproar and it was making its presence and newly near unfettered status fully known to him. Snapping and howling with fury and despair at the prospect of being separated from its Alpha. Of being bound again. Of the fact that Anduin was simply going to allow it to happen.

It wouldn’t let him sleep, hissing and snarling at him for hours on end without reprieve whenever he tried. Cursing him for his spinelessness. For allowing them to languish like this when the path to freedom was set so plainly before them. Caring nothing for the realities of his position or the attachments that he held. Heedless of the consequences which would all but assuredly occur if he were to defy his father so completely as to not only shed his disguise at last but to abandon the Alliance for the Horde. To openly embrace an Orc, let alone his father’s arch nemesis, as his Alpha.

If he ate, he knew that his other side wouldn’t let him keep it down. Taking its chance to torment him with a vengeful gusto; the tables turned after all the years he’d tortured it. Out of necessity, but that did little to assuage his other half’s anger.

“Prince Anduin, please.”

Finally, in response to the older man’s distress, the little Omega raised his head. “I’m sorry, Wyall.” Even to his own ears he sounded beyond tired. “I can’t. I can’t keep anything down.”

As expected, that only made his manservant more concerned. Setting the pewter tray down with a gentle rattle on a nearby table Wyall stepped forward. “Are you ill, my Prince?”

“I don’t know.” A lie. Of course he knew. But there was no way in hell he’d admit as much to Wyall. As much as he trusted the manservant who’d waited on him for most of his life, he couldn’t risk admitting anything when he knew that he’d be bound to tell his father. “Please. Can you get Aunt Jaina? If she’s here.”

“I’m not certain, Prince.” Wyall said. “Your father didn’t say anything about being allowed visitors.”

“But he didn’t say I wasn’t.” Anduin pointed out.

Whether it was how utterly exhausted he looked, how sick he sounded or the salience of his point which swayed him his manservant sighed. “Very well, my Prince. I’ll see if I can find her.” He said. “I’ll leave the tray here. Please, try to eat something while I’m away.”

“I’ll try.” Anduin said without any real intent to do so. Like he’d said, he wasn’t interested in vomiting for hours on end. And the only rumbling that his stomach would be doing that day would be to remind him of how ill he felt.

Wyall walked out of the tent and Anduin bedded down to wait. Curling up beneath the furs in an effort to block out the faint light and closing his eyes. Struggling to maintain even breathing and keep his empty stomach down.

A small eternity later, at least so it seemed to him, someone was lightly pulling the furs away. Thin cold hands finding his heated forehead. Frost magic spreading relief through his limbs the weakness in his food and rest deprived form thwarting his Omega’s efforts to hijack control and launch his body at the Mage.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Everything hurts. It won’t let me eat or sleep.”

“It?” she repeated. “You mean your Omega?” Anduin nodded. Jaina scowled. “I tried to warn your father that this wasn’t sustainable but you Wrynns are all so damned stubborn.” Jaina sighed and perched herself on the edge of the bed. “This happened after your father forbid you from seeing him, didn’t it? Or, perhaps more accurately, after he made it impossible for you to do so behind his back.”

The exhausted Prince nodded again.

“You’ve imprinted, haven’t you? Both of you.” She sounded entirely resigned. “It’s the only way to explain how your Omega would have managed to gain enough power to do this to you after all this time. And it explains…other things.”

“Other things?” what did she mean? “Garrosh’s behavior?”

Jaina just shook her head in that exasperated motherly manner which let Anduin know that, yes, that was exactly what she’d meant.

“How do I stop this?” Was he going to die? It certainly felt like he was. But would his Omega really push things that far when they’d both die?

Was death better, in its mind, then what he’d put it through? Light, if that was true than ‘guilty’ didn’t go nearly far enough to explain how he felt.

“You can’t.” Gently, Jaina pushed his hair back from his brow. “I’ll admit to not knowing much about the rarer dynamics. About having another side, or what all it’s capable of doing when it’s…shall we call it displeased? But I have a guess at what might help?”

“And what would that be?” he half-groaned, shifting slightly where he lay in an effort to make his stomach settle.

“Your Alpha should be able to bring it back into line. And an assurance that some means of contact will be preserved despite Varian’s plans to quarantine you in Stormwind should keep it there.”

“Father would never allow Garrosh to see me. Especially not if he ever found out the reality of our relationship.” Anduin said. “He can’t know, Jaina. Please don’t tell him. Certainly not now, when putting a stop to the Lich King and the Scourge is so much more important than the Faction War.”

“We both know how prone your father is to heavy handed actions. Sometimes not entirely thought through.” Jaina said. “He’ll need to know eventually, and the longer you refrain from telling him the more likely the chance he’ll find out of his own accord will be. I don’t think I need to point out the fact that allowing that to happen rather than breaking matters to him gently will be considerably more explosive.”

“No.” He said. “You don’t.”

“I’ll leave it up to your discretion then.”

The Prince made a weak noise of relief.

“Regardless of the fact that he ‘doesn’t like magic much’ he’ll have to deal with the matter. You need him and he’s not getting out of doing his job as your mate.”

“You won’t need to convince him to come, Jaina. All you’ll have to do is find some way to get him here without him being seen. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover he’s been making attempts at sneaking into my tent at night already.” He said. “Please make sure he doesn’t get caught by father or any of the guards. I don’t want this to get any worse than it already is. Not for the time being.”

“I think you underestimate my abilities, Anduin. If you doubt me that much.”

“Underestimate you?” Now Anduin couldn’t help but smile, even with how awful he felt. “Never.”

“We’ll see.” She said. “Once all of this madness with the Scourge has been resolved I’ll bring you my longer-term solution. You still want a pet, don’t you?”

“A pit of company would never be remiss.” Anduin said. “But how would a pet help me keep in contact with Garrosh while I’m sure to be locked in Stormwind’s Keep?”

“If I answer that question it won’t be a surprise. And a gift should always be a surprise.” Jaina stood up. “Can you hold out a few more hours?”

“I think so.” Though in all honesty he wasn’t certain. Not that he had much choice.

“A bit later, once I can be certain that your father has settled in for the night, I’ll send the Overlord to see you. Twenty minutes is about all I can safely give you-.”

“Even that would mean a lot, Aunt Jaina.” Anduin said. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She said. “Excuse me.”

Wyall returned almost the moment that the Arch Mage had left, still looking worried. “Are you ill, my Prince? Should I alert your father? Summon healers?”

“It’s just a bit of a stomach bug, Wyall. Thank you. I’ll be alright.” He said. “Can you leave the tray there, please? I’ll eat a bit later.”

“If you’d prefer that.” His manservant went over to the fire and prodded it a bit higher after adding in a few new logs. “I’ll leave you your privacy for the night, your majesty. Should you need anything, simply call.”

“Thank you, Wyall.” Anduin listened to the older man’s footsteps fade into the background, and then to the crackling of the fire. Resuming his former activity of staring at the opposite wall. How long he lay there in a state of half catatonia Anduin didn’t know but the last of the light from outside had faded long ago and the fire had burned to near embers by the time a scratching noise at the back of his tent reached his ears.

Heart dropping into his stomach and fear curling up his spin Anduin pushed himself onto weakened arms and looked in the direction of the noise. Eyes widening at the hunched shadow scrabbling at the bottom of the tent, pulling up some of the stakes holding it in place against the ice. Forming a widening hole through which the threatening form began to crawl in from out in the cold night before ultimately becoming stuck when the fabric twisted around a piece of the armor it wore.

Fear was quickly replaced with amusement when, upon closer inspection, the Prince realized that what he’d at first mistaken for some sort of attacking Scourge monstrosity come to drag him off into the blowing snow was actually Garrosh attempting to bypass the notice of the Royal Guards his father had stationed at the entrance to his tent. Trapped by the heavy fabric with only his head and shoulders inside his Alpha directed an unimpressed look up at him from where he lay on the floor.

“A bit of help, Kil’azi?” he hissed gruffly. “ _Before_ I accidentally bring your entire tent down.”

With a considerable struggle and after almost passing out from lack of food after getting to his feet Anduin managed to stumble over to where his Alpha had gotten himself tangled. Falling to his knees and taking a brief moment to catch his breath again, the Prince reached up with shaking hands and freed the thick fabric from where it had gotten caught. Allowing Garrosh to slip the rest of the way through the opening.

“Proudmoore was right.” He said, getting up onto all fours. Golden eyes taking in his pallor and the deep shadows lack of sleep had left behind. “You don’t look good.”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. It won’t let me.” Anduin sagged to one side and Garrosh quickly reached out to prop him up. “Jaina said she was going to help get you here. I thought that meant a portal directly into my tent, not…well, whatever that was.”

“She tried. But I wasn’t about to take a portal anywhere if there was any other option.” He said. “She still refused to leave me be until I agreed to carry around some rock that supposedly makes me invisible. But I didn’t come here so you could interrogate my methods.”

“My Omega has gotten itself partially free of its bonds. The imprinting between us, along with my choice to go along with what I want in pursuing this rather than what I should be doing-my duty as Prince and future King to my people and my Kingdom-made it stronger. It doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before.”

“Can you blame it?”

Anduin shook his head, blue eyes glassy. “No.” He said. “I can’t. But if this keeps up its going to kill me. I haven’t slept in three days. I haven’t kept food down in just as long. I had to beg Wyall at length not to tell my father because I can’t have him learning the truth. And I doubt that the Healers can do anything to help. Holy Light, I hope there’s something you can do.”

“I can smuggle you out of here.”

“I can’t walk that far. Could barely make it over here from the bed, Garrosh.”

“I can carry you with one hand.”

“My father would drop everything to do with the Scourge in favor of waging war against the Horde if we were to run off together now.” Anduin said. “Azeroth can’t afford that.”

Garrosh grumbled something noncommittal under his breath. “It’ll be a bit more difficult but there should be something I can do. Though, considering how stubborn your surface half is, your Omega is bound to fight me.” He said. “Your so called ‘guards’ are still outside. Do what you can to keep it quiet.”

“You’re going to force it to submit?”

“I’m sure an Alpha’s powers are rampantly abused by your race, but at points they’re necessary. Though I’ve never heard of a situation like this before.”

Anduin sighed. “It figures that I’m, once again, a freak.” He said. “I’ll do my best. Do me a favor, though. Don’t knock me out again. I’d like to be able to eat a bit of the food on that tray tonight and I’ve lingering concerns I’d like to speak with you about.”

His Omega wasn’t very pleased with the turn of conversation, shifting and hissing. Hackles raised. Attempting to move out of the Orc’s arm’s reach only to be thwarted by the failure of exhausted limbs to move quite fast enough. A snarl which left Anduin mortified curling back his lips as Garrosh caught him by the ankle and dragged him back. Flipping him onto his back a moment later.

Anduin attempted to keep his arm at his side but didn’t quite react fast enough. Blunted nails meeting Garrosh’s cheek with enough force to draw blood from a Human but only raising thin welts against the Orc’s much thicker skin. His mate grabbing both wrists and pinning them down. Aware it was trapped his Omega went for the Light but this time the Prince was ready and managed to cut it off.

Necessity kept the dominating growl quiet, but the powerful rumble which vibrated into his smaller form was none the less pure Alpha. Forceful and demanding. Anduin squirmed futilely beneath the Alpha’s bulk and hissed back in defiance. Garrosh growled again, louder this time, and after a long moment’s glaring he broke eye contact at last and bared his neck.

Acknowledging submission with the careful scrape of sharp tusks against the thin skin along the side of Anduin’s throat Garrosh sat back on his haunches. Allowing the Prince to shakily push himself upright.

“Your lack of control is appalling.” He set the tray in front of him in a clear demand that he eat. Anduin needed no further encouragement and shoved a piece of bread into his mouth. “I’ve heard of a lot of Alphas who have trouble keeping their inner selves in check but never anything like this. Your other half doesn’t trust you at all.”

“I wouldn’t trust it either if our situations were reversed, Garrosh.” Anduin polished off the bread and moved on to the baked fish beside it, long gone cold. “I don’t know if there’s anything I’ll ever be able to do to fix it. And I’m starting to worry what it’ll do if I ever let it fully free.”

“If there is a way another Omega would know more than I would. If not them, perhaps a Shaman though they’ll likely feed you some dribble about ‘realigning your elements’.”

“Rather specific.” Anduin said around a narrow smile. “Speaking from experience?”

Garrosh scoffed. “We don’t have much time, Kil’azi. You said you had concerns.”

Draining his small cup of honey sweetened tea before setting it down on its saucer. “It’s not over.” Anduin said. “When the Black Knight fell in the ring he said ‘all according to plan. You lose.’ We didn’t succeed in doing anything. Not really. Whatever plan the Cult of the Damned has is still in motion and now that I’m stuck here there’s nothing I can do to stop them.”

“I can already guess what you’re going to ask.” Garrosh said with a resigned sigh. “What do you want me to do, Kil’azi.”

 “They’ve buried the Black Knight by now. In an unmarked grave in the same cemetery as his victims and the other fallen. Can you please go and check?”

“Check?” Garrosh repeated. “Check what?”

“Check to make sure he’s still there. Still buried. That the Cult of the Damned hasn’t taken his body for reanimation or some other ill scheme.” Anduin said. “Please. Use the stone Aunt Jaina gave you when you go in case something is out there. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t need to be invisible to handle a bunch of cultists. But, seeing as you’re clearly so worried, I’ll do so. If only to put your mind at ease.” Reluctantly the towering Orc turned back towards the makeshift entrance he’d crawled in through. “It’ll let you sleep now. You should take advantage of that.”

“I will.” He said. “Goodnight, Garrosh.”

The Overlord had much less trouble getting out of the tent than he’d had getting in, the thick fabric not catching on his pauldrons this time around, and replaced the stakes he’d pulled up before getting to his feet again. Pulling the little stone, the Mage had given to him earlier that day the Overlord, after casting it in a look of disgust, activated the fiendish object and left the tent behind. Soon followed by the Alliance encampment and the rest of the Tournament Grounds.

Like the first time he’d been out that way the cold and the dark were thick and unyielding. Unlike the first time, a faint yellow light was plainly visible beyond where he knew the poor excuse for a fence which surrounded the graveyard to be. Low to the ground and flickering like a flame.

He hadn’t brought Gorehowl with him to see his mate, not thinking he’d need it, and he felt the absence of his weapon like a great weight. Increasing as he drew closer and reached the fence at last. Slipping through with some struggle and approaching. A lantern, tipped onto its side but still burning in the snow. The frozen ground broken. The coffin inside the disturbed grave open and empty.

The Black Knight’s body was gone.


	14. A Play into Their Hands

With the Royal Guard behind him and the heavy plate he wore clanking with every step he took the High King of the Alliance threw the flap of the Argent tent aside and shouldered his way in from the cold. Blue eyes scanning the gathered crowd of Crusaders and baring his teeth at the sight of the Horde.

“I hope that this matter, whatever it is, is as serious as the Crusader you sent to collect me claimed, Tirion.” He said. “I don’t have the time or the desire to tolerate _them_ otherwise.”

“King Wrynn.” The old Alpha’s voice was stern, bordering dangerously on disrespect for his station. Varian growled and uncomfortable shifting spread through the room. “’Serious’ doesn’t begin to cover the true nature of this matter. The Crown Prince and the Warsong Offensive’s Overlord uncovered a dangerous plot by the Cult of the Damned which becomes more concerning with everything new we learn. What’s more it seems that Arthas isn’t finished. The Black Knight’s body has been stolen.”

“What?” the King snarled. “What do you mean his body has been ‘stolen’? Didn’t you have guards posted?”

“At a grave?”

“ _We’re dealing with the thrice damned Lich King! You should have considered that this might happen, and now my son might be in danger!”_

“Disgusted as it makes me to admit this, I’m forced to agree with the King of the Dogs.” Garrosh said. “You should have been able to predict that something like this might happen. You’re supposed to specialize in the undead!”

“What are you doing about this, Fordring?” Varian snarled. “Are you doing anything at all?”

“We’ve determined the most likely place he was taken was Death Speaker’s Watch-.”

“ _Most likely?”_ the King demanded.

The old Paladin didn’t react, continuing to speak as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We aren’t certain precisely what it is they plan to do with the body now that they have it but no matter what purpose the Scourge intend to put the Black Knight to, they cannot be allowed to do so.” He said. “A force of Argent Crusaders has already been dispatched to the area, led by Tyrosus and Elligor. Though I myself am unable to go as someone must remain here to oversee matters.”

“I will _not_ leave this matter in Argent hands! Not when you’re already proven incompetent in _preventing_ this!” Varian snapped, slamming a plated fist against a nearby table. “Send word to them that I, along with an Alliance force, will be joining them.”

“I’ll be going as well.” Garrosh ignored the other Alpha’s agitated snarl, golden eyes daring the Highlord to object. “When a Warsong starts something, they see it through to the end.”

“The Horde will be sending a force along with him.” Thrall said.

Tirion nodded. “Very well. Word will be sent ahead of you.”

Though the High King’s poisonous glare followed them out of the tent Varian made no effort to impede them. “I don’t think I need to remind you not to allow your hatred for the King to interfere with this.” Thrall said.

“Not this time.” Garrosh said, ignoring Rehgar’s disbelieving snort. “I’m fully aware of what’s at stake. It’s far too much to ever risk, especially over _Wrynn!”_

The Warchief simply shook his head. “Head to the stables and collect your mount. The others will join you there. As will the Alliance, I imagine.”

“Let’s hope that Varian is as willing to set things aside as Garrosh claims he is.” Rehgar said.

“I’ve little doubt he will be. At least for the time.” Thrall said. “He believes perhaps correctly given the role he played in puting an end to the Black Knight’s scheme, that Anduin may be in considerable danger. For all of the problems that the Wrynns may or may not have in their relationship no one can deny how much Varian loves his son.”

The Warsong Overlord didn’t hear Rehgar’s response, leaving the two older Orcs behind and heading towards the stables. Unlocking the Wyvern he’d been using during his stay at the grounds and leading it free of its stall.

By the time he’d attached the saddle’s straps he’d been joined by the rest of the Horde force, mustered by the Warchief on short notice and consisting of a good mix of all of their associated races including the recently inducted Taunka. But they weren’t alone. Varian, alongside a similarly slap-dash force of Alliance-though unlike the Horde force this one notably consisted of mostly Humans-were there as well, preparing griffons and hippogriffs of varying colors.

It was in tense, uncomfortable silence that the two forces prepared to set off. Filing out with clattering armor and vicious glares before lifting off into the frozen Icecrown sky.

The Horde force, with Garrosh at its head, and the Alliance force, with Varian at its head, were quick to coalesce around their own. The rift which opened between them rapidly widening until the greenish haze which hung above the glacier veiled each from the other’s view. Allowing both sides to affectively pretend that the others weren’t there.

Death Speaker’s Watch was a Cult of the Damned encampment made up of a handful of saronite platforms clinging to the jagged side of a rocky outcropping far too close to the Tournament Grounds for Garrosh’s comfort. Plague spreaders hung like static giants in the inky darkness, slowly turning in the howling wind. Tents and odd necromantic symbols glowing an off-putting acid green, along with boiling cauldrons filled with suspect elixirs, littered the area and cultists in dark robes swarmed like Vermin roaches.

A shout echoed back to them on the winter gale, too distant for the Common to be discernable as words, and the vague forms of griffons descended on a distant platform where Argent Forces were locked in combat with Necromancers.

“We can’t allow the Alliance to steal our glory!” Garrosh snarled. “Attack! _For the Horde!”_

“For the Horde!”

Their Wyverns swooped down from the wintery sky, claws and barbed tails joining the fray on the rise and crashing through the brittle skeletons which had been sent in to swarm them. Garrosh swung down off the back of his wyvern, burying Gorehowl in the back of the nearest Cultist as he did so.

“Find that bastards’ body! Do not allow the Scourge to recover the Black Knight!”

“ _Ignore the Horde!”_ Varian snarled, though he sounded absolutely furious. “I won’t allow those frothing savages to put this mission into jeopardy! Not when my son’s life is at stake! Tyrosus!”

The Arms Warrior barely took his eyes off the scythe handed skeletons he was grappling with to address his monarch. “High King Wrynn?”

“Where is he?”

“We met with Scourge resistance the instant we arrived on the Watch.” Tyrosus swung the blade in his hand with so much force that the attacking skeleton exploded, bones flying in all directions. “We haven’t been able to gain much ground but we’ve been able to confirm that the Black Knight’s body was taken here. They’re attempting to raise him as a Death Knight, though for what precise purpose I can’t say.”

“You know this,” Garrosh snarled, “and yet you haven’t pushed passed this outcropping?”

“The resistance we’ve met with has been ferocious, Overlord. As I’m sure you can see.” It was Elligor Dawnbringer who spoke this time, huffing under the strain of a ravening horror’s assault. “They’re on the third rise, above and to the east of us. A large force won’t be able to reach it but a smaller force-a _much_ smaller force; two men at most-might be able to slip by. Though I’d recommend only sending the strongest you have.”

“The strongest you have who are willing and able to work together.” Maxwell swiftly put in. “Do consider that aspect, if you would.”

“I’ve no interest in locking horns with your mongrel King, Paladin. Not here.” Garrosh grunted, paying the molten glare which Varian sent him no mind. “If Wrynn can’t say the same than one of you can come with me and he can hold the line here.”

“I won’t be left behind here, Hellscream! Not when my son could be in danger!” Varian snapped. “If ensuring he’ll remain safe means tolerating you, Orc, so be it! Keep your blade well away from me and I’ll keep mine the same.”

Garrosh sparred the Human King a dismissive grunt, shattering another brittle ghoul before hauling himself back into the saddle and prodding his Wyvern into the air. Varian and his armored griffon not far behind.

The sickening glow of an ongoing ritual served to indicate the proper outcropping for them to head for. Both noticed it at nearly the same moment and steered their mounts up and around the sharp saronite spires adorning the holdings below.

The Black Knight’s body lay at the center of a complex pattern of harsh drawn Necromantic symbols, the wan glow casting warped reflections in the dark armor he was still clad in. The necromancers which surrounded the corpse-four of them in total, one at each cardinal point-were so deep into their spell that they didn’t notice their arrival. Easy prey.

At least they would be once Varian and Garrosh got through the two twenty-foot skeletons which had been left to defend against interruptions.

For the first time since leaving the Tournament Grounds the two men exchanged glares. “Right or left, Wrynn?”

“Funny, Hellscream, I was about to ask you the same question.”

“I don’t care _what_ you were about to ask me, Human! Right or left?”

“I’ll take right first. Just hold off the other one until I can bring it down too.” Varian told him, charging into the fray.

“Hold it off?” Garrosh spat, blocking the strike of the nearest skeleton’s massive axe with his own. “The only one who’s going to end up ‘holding anything off’ is you! Or have you forgotten, Alliance Dog, that you _lost_ to me in the Argent’s ring!”

“That was a damned fluke, Hellscream! You know that as well as I do!” The King snarled back, launching himself out of the range of a sweeping lunge and bringing Shalamayne down on the exposed bone with all the force that he could muster. A spider web of deep cracks spreading outwards from where the blow had landed. The monstrous skeleton let out a low groan, its brittle pieces clattering as it pulled back for another strike. “Why else would you repeatedly refuse my demands for a rematch. You’re afraid you’re going to lose!”

“I don’t owe you anything, Wrynn. Least of all a rematch. The next time we fight it will be on grounds where our lives aren’t protected!” Dodging another strike Garrosh swung Gorehowl into the exposed joint of the skeleton’s knee. Snapping the bones apart and sending the abomination toppling to the ground like dominos. “I gained far more than proof of my status as the greater warrior when I pinned you, and I would never risk that with a rematch over pride.”

“You expect me to believe that of a savage?” Varian snapped, lunging inside of another strike and snapping the skeleton’s spine with a single powerful blow. Shrugging the upper body off his back as it tumbled down atop him. “Bloodshed and pride, what your heathen ways pass off as ‘honor’, is all that your kind care about!”

“You know _nothing_ about my kind!” Garrosh snarled back, but forced down the urge to rise to the other Alpha’s challenge. Storming forward towards the nearest Necromancer and burying his axe in their back. Varian wasn’t far behind, Shalamayne split into its two halves-Ellemayne and Shalla’tor-cutting through everything within his reach indiscriminately and with extreme prejudice. Once the final Necromancer fell the High King didn’t waste a moment’s thought before leaping onto Garrosh’s back like a wild cat and attempting to split his armor with the heavy butt of his swords. “Damn you, Wrynn!”

Reaching around behind himself with some difficulty Garrosh seized the other Warrior by his hanging ponytail and peeled him off his back. Flinging the Human to the hard ground a few yards away, his body colliding with the resonant clang of plate. The High King lay stunned for a brief moment before rolling up onto all fours and snatching up his blades. Teeth bared and back arched like a threatened cat prepared to pounce. Warped metallic laughter stopped both warriors cold before he could.

The Black Knight, body pushed into a state of decay far advanced of what was natural by the magic used to raise him, eyes burning with Lich Fire beneath the helm he wore, stood watching them from amid the strewn bodies of the fallen Necromancers. “Far be it from me to stop the pair of you from killing each other. Sort out what you need to. I’ll wait.”

“Seems we aren’t done here after all.” Varian spat, rising back onto his feet. Coiled down into a battle stance. “I’ll finish you off, Hellscream, once we’ve put a torch to the Black Knight.”

“Wrong, Wrynn.” Garrosh snarled back, the golden eyes set on their new opponent. “The only thing you’ll be ‘finishing’ once this Scourge abomination has been properly dealt with is finishing being thrown off this balcony! If you survive hitting the ground I might consider letting you crawl away on your broken limbs.”

Both Warriors pounced on the Death Knight before them only to quickly be flung backwards by a burst of Necrotic power, the Black Knight’s laughter ringing once more over the rushing wind. Scrambling quickly to their feet the pair tried again, only to meet with the same result.

Blue met with gold across the open balcony, the disgusted realization that they’d actually have to work together if they were going to stand any chance of getting close enough to land a hit which might stand to bring the Death Knight down passing between them. Lip curled into a sneer and hate clear as day in his eyes Varian jerked his head sharply in the Black Knight’s direction. Earning a reluctant nod from the Overlord, who was quickly able to work out the rather basic strategy which had been suggested.

Leaping out of the way of a blast of frigid rime which split against the ground Garrosh circled around the Black Knight’s right and lunged at him. Varian pouncing once their foe’s attention was focused elsewhere, redirecting the Death Knight’s attention once again and allowing Garrosh to strike as well. Saronite armor collapsing beneath powerful blows from both infuriated warriors, bones soon giving way as well and leaving the Black Knight in a heap on the ground. Barely held together by threads of Necromancy which were rapidly slipping away.

“Fools.” He wheezed, curdled blood oozing from one corner of his twisted mouth. “I was nothing more than a distraction. A ploy to lure both of you away and leave him undefended.”

“Him?” Varian demanded hardly, driving a plated foot into the Black Knight’s chest. Bearing down until brittle ribs broke. “Do you mean Tirion?”

The Black Knight laughed again, little more now than a rattling sound in his deflating lungs. “The Paladin? No. Fordring will come to us in due time and he will be destroyed. Once he’d have been Champion but now another will soon take his place, though he’s proved willful.” He said. “The Omega belongs to the Master now, Wrynn. You’ll never see your son again.”

“Anduin!” Leaving the Black Knight lying where he’d fallen and with his plans to force Garrosh into another match whether he’d agree to fight or not entirely forgotten the High King threw himself back onto his griffon and took off towards the Tournament Grounds. Not bothering to alert the forces still on the outcropping below that they’d succeeded in the purpose which they’d come for and paying no mind to the fact that the Overlord wasn’t far behind.

Ignoring proper protocol Varian landed at speed in the middle of the Alliance encampment. Nearly falling from the saddle and onto the ice when he dismounted and bolting towards where the Prince’s tent had stood only to discover a twisted mass of wood and fabric and the dead bodies of the Royal Guards whom had been stationed on watch outside.

“Anduin!” He wasn’t there. He knew he wasn’t there but in that moment logic meant nothing and he shouted desperately into the night. Hoping against hope that his son’s familiar voice would answer. “ _Anduin!”_

“Varian!” Tirion’s voice, sharp and urgent from not far behind him. The King spun around, seizing the Paladin by the tabard that he wore and dragging him forward harshly.

“ ** _Where is my son!”_**

“I’m sorry, Varian. They took him. A specialized attack force of elite Death Knights appeared in the middle of the encampment and vanished again before we could arrive.”

“And they knew where he was.” Varian’s grip tightened, his voice threatening to break. “Because I made him a sitting duck.”

“Not all hope is lost. We do know that he is still alive. That they’ve no intent to kill him.”

“And how do you know that?” Varian snapped.

“Because one made a point of mockery and clearly laid out Arthas’ plans for him. No one unaware of his status overheard.” Tirion said grimly. “If I could inform you in more detail in private, we can step into my tent.”

“I don’t have the time for this, Fordring! The Lich King has my son! I need to mobilize the Alliance to get him back!”

“And the Argent Crusade will be lending all the aid we can, High King.” Tirion said. “But with respect, you need to hear this.”

Garrosh didn’t bother attempting to follow the pair, instead making his way back to the Horde encampment where he found the Warchief waiting in the snow.

“I know.” He said before Garrosh could even open his mouth.

“That Scourge bastard has my mate!”

“I know, Garrosh.” Thrall said, his voice slightly sterner than before. “Hard not to with a pack of Scourge Death Knights rampaging through the entire grounds. The Argent Crusade is making preparations to move on Icecrown Citadel, as are we, and I’ve no doubt Varian won’t be far behind.”

“What of it?” the Overlord demanded.

“The Orgrim’s Hammer will be returning here in another few days, likely at around the same time as the Sky Breaker.” Thrall said. “When the Alliance and the Argent Crusade move on Icecrown Citadel, the Horde will go with them.”


	15. The Shadow of the Citadel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to let everyone know that I've set up a fandom discord that readers and creators alike might find interesting to make use of. The link is in my Profile if you're interested. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Try as she might Jaina had been un able to escape her duties to the Council of Six and had only barely managed to make it back to the Argent Tournament Grounds in time to catch the _Sky Breaker_ before it had lifted off, the presence of the hulking Dark Iron clad form of the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ a foreboding portent of potential hostilities to come. She could only hope that Varian and Garrosh’s shared interest in getting Anduin to safety would dampen the fallout.

The moment that the Archmage had boarded the fully outfitted Alliance gunship she took to seeking out her friend and finally found him hunched in a chair on one of the lower decks. Shoulders curled inwards beneath the gigantic spaulders which he wore and head in his hands.

“Varian.”

When the man before her raised his head it wasn’t a King, a military leader or a Warrior that she saw. It was a terrified father. “Jaina. Thank the Light!”  With a great effort, the chair beneath him-almost comically small by comparison-creaking painfully, he pulled himself to his feet. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“I almost didn’t.” She admitted. “I’m sorry, Varian. I wish I could have come sooner, but I wasn’t able to get away.”

“I understand.” He shook his head. Running his hands through his dark hair, having nothing else to do with them, and making his already messy ponytail even more unkempt. “Light damn it!”

“You can’t blame yourself for this.” Jaina said. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have seen this coming. None of us could.”

“I doomed him, Jaina. I’m his _father_! I’m supposed to _protect him_! And instead of doing that I left him exposed and caged! I may as well have delivered him to Arthas’ doorstep wrapped in ribbons!”

“You _were_ trying to protect him.”

“From Garrosh! Because that filthy animal _might_ have found out the truth of what he was. _Might_ have outed him sheerly out of spite, or worse forced him into a bond. And now, because I forced him to remain holed up in his tent with no where to go, he’s in the hands of an Alpha with every intent to breed him like a stock beast!” The chair he’d been sitting in was flung against the wall where it shattered into wood shards. Massive hands shaking, scarred face twisted into a rictus of fury, the King began to pace like a cornered animal. “Everything I’ve done was to protect him from this, from falling into the grip of the brothels or a mate who’d abuse him, and I’ve failed Jaina. All of his suffering, and I know he’s suffered though he’s never said a word, has been for nothing!”

“We’ll get him back, Varian. The Alliance. The Horde. The Argent Crusade and their allies in the Ebon Blade. The Scourge has lost too many of its numbers to hold off an assault of this magnitude.” Jaina said. “Arthas will see justice now. And Anduin will be freed and taken to safety. We know he doesn’t intend to kill him.”

“But what if it’s too late, Jaina?” he snarled. It was all the Mage could do not to jump in surprise. “What’s he been put through already? How much has he suffered? It’s been two days; more than enough time for my son to have been attacked. Abused. Forced into a bond. Or even…even…” Varian struggled with the word before giving up on the effort of daring to voice it so bluntly, settling instead for “forcibly left with child.”

“He’s strong, Varian.” Jaina said. “Like you are. Like Tiffin was. Even if he has been subjected to such horrible atrocities Anduin will make it through it.”

“He shouldn’t have to! This never should have happened! My son doesn’t deserve this!” Varian was only becoming more agitated as time went on. “He doesn’t deserve any of this. He deserves to live as what he is. He deserves to not have to constantly fear slipping up or being uncovered and being stolen from his bed. He deserves a mate who would treat him well and to have a family. Light damn it all, he deserves a better father than I could ever be!”

“Don’t say that!” Jaina found it increasingly difficult to keep her alarm from her voice. “You’re a good father, a good man, and Anduin would tell you as much himself if he were here. I’m sure he has.”

“A good father?” he scoffed. “If I was a good father, Jaina, I wouldn’t have squandered nearly all the time I’ve had to play a father’s role in his life! If I were a good father my son wouldn’t look at me with well hidden fear in his eyes every time I raise my voice because I’d be able to reign in my temper enough not to turn on him! If I was a good father, the last thing I said to him wouldn’t have been what it was.”

“Varian, he defied you. You were disciplining him. And you had no way of knowing.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.” He said. “We could fail; fail to defeat Arthas; fail to find Anduin; fail to even breach the Citadel. I could fall in the effort. And where I’d gladly die for my son, I can’t suffer _that_ being our last conversation.”

“It won’t be. You have to believe that.” Jaina said, resting a hand on his massive bicep with no small amount of hesitation fully aware as she was of just how volatile her long-time friend could be. “Anduin needs you to be at your best. And, wrestling with this, there’s no way you will be.”

The High King heaved a heavy sigh and nodded. “You’re right.” He said, a margin of the tension which had built up in his muscles bleeding away. “Fordring sent a strike force ahead, aided by Mograine and his Death Knights. By the time that we arrive they should have successfully breached the front gates of Icecrown. I’ll be joining Tirion and the Argents there, and the _Sky Breaker_ will be left in Muradin’s hands.” Varian’s face pulled down into a scowl. “No doubt some of the Horde will be present as well.”

“Varian-.”

“I’m aware, Proudmoore, you don’t need to lecture me.” He snapped. “Let the heathen’s make themselves useful in cutting through the Scourge. The sooner we get to the Frozen Throne the sooner I can beat Anduin’s location out of that bastard who calls himself the Lich King!”

The ‘bastard’ who’d used to be a lover and a brother to each of them in turn. It wasn’t lost on Jaina that had Arthas not turned to darkness and had her relationship with him not worked out, the High King would have had no qualms-perhaps baring the age gap-over a relationship between the two Paladins developing.

It had been the Lordaeric view of Alpha-on-Omega relations, the most even handed among all the Human Kingdoms, which had shaped Varian’s own sight on the matter more than almost anything else.

“You’ll really be able to ignore them? Even if they’re at the breach?” Jaina’s tone was somewhat (very) disbelieving. “Even if it’s Garrosh?”

“Hellscream can sit on his axe and spin!” The Alpha growled. “My son is in there, Jaina. Freezing cold. Surrounded by the undead. Potentially being violated and abused even as we speak. The Horde is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“And if they offer to help?” Jaina frowned in the face of the utterly disbelieving side eye that the Warrior sent her. “Varian, Thrall isn’t heartless no matter what you may want to believe. And Garrosh has clearly established some respect for Anduin.”

“I don’t care what ‘respect’ Hellscream has, he’s staying well away from my son!” He snapped, then seemed to almost reconsider before once more heaving a heavy sigh. “I won’t ask them for help but should they find him before I do…at least on the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ there’s less risk of hypothermia and frostbite. But I don’t want him there for long!”

“And if-when,” Jaina quickly corrected, “you find him?”

“I’ll be taking him back to the _Sky Breaker_ and to Hearthglen for treatment if necessary, before returning to Stormwind.” He said. “What did you expect me to do, hand my son off to some footman after he’s been through this much trauma?”

“Of course not!” Jaina said. “But you do realize that that might mean-.”

“I won’t be present in the fight against the Lich King. I’m aware. But my son is more important. There’s nothing I can do, now, for the man I considered a brother.” Varian said. “Not to mention that what he’s gone through has likely brought instinct to the fore. Until he’s been calmed the risk he’ll be given away if anyone else sees to him is too high.”

For a long moment the only sound was the thrumming of the engines around them.

“We’ll be within sight of the citadel soon, if we aren’t already.” The King lifted his weapon from where he’d left it leaning against a nearby wall and hung it from his belt. “I shouldn’t be hiding down here. My men need to see their King; moral can’t be allowed to fall before such a crucial battle.”

Platted footsteps thudding against the _Sky Breakers_ wooden floor, Varian exited the isolated room and headed towards the stairs. Jaina wasn’t far behind.

The droning of the four massive engines which held the titanic airship aloft rose to an almost deafening roar as they stepped out onto the decks. Sky Breaker Marines rushed from station to station, hastily preparing for the conflict drawing ever nearer. Silver Covenant Shield Mages stood ready to either side of the decks, prepared to defend against approaching Frostwyrms or any sudden attacks from the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ , little more now than a distant shadow through the wintry gloom.

Muradin, his squat form clad in horned armor in tones of pale blue, quickly made his way across the decks towards them. The Dwarfs stature almost comical beside a man whose height easily rivaled that of most Orcs.

“We’ll be over tha Citadel in another few minutes, yer Majesty. Tirion and tha forces of tha Ashen Verdict have had success in breaching tha front gate and are waitin fer aid ta proceed.” He said. “Tha griffons will take ya down ta join em and tha _Sky Breaker_ will circle around ta tha Rampart o Skulls to offer air support. Call us in when ya find tha Prince and we’ll dock, even if we ave ta blow half tha Citadel ta hell ta do it!”

“Thank you, Muradin.” Varian said. “The Horde is likely to send the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ to do much the same. Devote your attention to the Scourge; do not engage unless they leave you no choice.”

“The Horde may not make things so easy, yer Majesty, but we’ll do tha best we can ta abide by yer orders.” The Dwarf said gruffly. “We’re all well aware that our main priorities fer bein here are ta unseat Arthas an rescue Prince Anduin. Tha Orcs and their ‘friends’ aren’t even a concern.”

“Good.” The King grunted. “See to it that that fact is well remembered.”

As Varian turned towards where the griffons waited on the side of the deck Jaina reached out and stopped him. “I can teleport us down.” She said. “It isn’t much but it will save time.”

Varian nodded to the Archmage without a word. A flash of pale violet light blurred their surroundings and a moment later the pair were standing in the midst of the soaring entryway which the Ashen Verdict, alongside Champions of both the Alliance and the Horde, had managed to wrest from the frigid grip of the damned.

Much to the King’s displeasure Thrall, with Garrosh not far behind, arrived only a handful of moments later. Jaina couldn’t help but tense as the hulking Mag’har approached.

“Wrynn!”

“Not now!” He growled. “I don’t have time for your kind.”

“You’d better have time for the situation your son has found himself in. You _are_ responsible for him being stuck in that tent!”

The King froze midstride, barley contained fury radiating off him with such force the air warmed a handful of degrees. “ _How dare you suggest-!”_

“All that I’m _suggesting_ ,” the Overlord cut him off, “is that I’ve enough respect for the portent of disaster you sired that I dislike the thought of leaving him rot in this place longer than need be. This citadel is full of enemies and far from small. The Warsong Offensive wouldn’t be opposed to lending aid to the search, especially since it means tearing this damned structure apart brick by stinking frozen brick, provided you can bring yourself to ‘spare the time’.”

Varian’s blue eyes bore into the Orc before him, the desire to physically attack the other Alpha only barely contained. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Your aid would be appreciated.”

And, no doubt, promptly forgotten. Or buried. Under other circumstances Jaina’s thoughts would have quickly strayed to how much she needed a nap.

The near slight plainly wasn’t lost on the Orc, as his golden eyes narrowed and a low growl rumbled in his chest, but he stepped away. Returning to where Thrall stood with the Horde’s forces gathered behind him.

Though Varian did have the excuse that Black Dragon magic had split him into two-and hadn’t that been a handful and a half, with both the King and his Alpha-Lo’gosh, as he referred to himself-on her hands; luckily, she’d had two swords-the Blood Rage that the Orcs were known for shouldn’t have allowed Garrosh to be so entirely put together by comparison.

Then again, considering the true nature of his relationship with Anduin-sweet Light she didn’t want to be on the same continent when Varian figured that one out-the other Alpha likely had the majority of his attention focused elsewhere.

Tirion’s arrival, alongside Darion, broke the tension of the moment.

“We’ve established a firm enough base here that we won’t risk losing it if we push forward further into the citadel.” The Paladin said. “With the numbers we had prior to your arrival we weren’t able to drive deeper into the citadel, but the intelligence our scouts have managed to gather has alerted us to the presence of a powerful foe not far from our position.”

“The Gate Keeper, in many ways, of the citadel.” Darion’s metallic voice grated against the King’s ears and Varian had to will his body not to cringe. “Lord Marrowgar.”

“I don’t care what Arthas sees fit to throw at us.” Varian snarled, eyes set on the hall beyond the Argent Defenders who stood atop the stairs. “My _son_ is in there! I’m going. The _Alliance_ is going as, it seems, is the Horde. Regardless of whether your ‘Ashen Verdict’ comes.”

“Anduin may be your son, High King, but with all due respect he’s also my student. I’d rather not be accused of hiding in fear of the horrors which the Lich King has unleashed while he suffers in captivity.” Tirion said. “But there’s one more thing you need to know before we leave which is of considerable import.”

“’Considerable import’?” Varian repeated. “What could be of ‘considerable import’ enough to delay the rescue of my son?”

The tortured scream which reverberated through the cold and heavy air served as answer.

Darion’s cold, lich fire eyes focused on him before the Death Knight spoke. “Bolvar Fordragon is still alive.”

“The Alliance Commander at the Wrath Gate?” Thrall’s voice had taken on an urgent tone. “What of Saurfang?”

“Dranosh Saurfang was struck down by Frostmourne.” Tirion said heavily. “We should hope that he is dead.”

“He’s certainly not alive. Not according to the reports from the survivors.” Garrosh said.

“The ‘reports’ said the same of Fordragon, Garrosh.” Thrall’s words were stern. “If Dranosh is still alive, and certainly if he’s here, being held captive and tortured, Varok needs to know.”

“There’s no way to be certain, but it’s a safe assumption that he’s not.” Darion said. “There’s only ever one set of screams. The voice is always the same.”

“We’ll have to rescue Bolvar as well.” Varian said. “Anduin will be pleased to have him back, as would I. And they can aid each other in recovering. But there’s no more time to waste! Champions of the Alliance!” There came the clatter of armor and hiss of weapons being drawn as the Alliance Champions arrayed in the area drew to attention. “Forward!”

Tirion responded with a long-suffering sigh as the King marched up the nearby stairs, his forces eager on his heels, before calling the Ashen Verdict to order. Darion looked on in silence as Garrosh stormed up the stairs without waiting for Thrall’s word or any of the Horde’s Champions to follow.

Gorehowl reduced a scythe-armed skeleton to bone shards which scattered about on the citadel’s frozen floor. Quickly crushed to dust beneath the Orc’s heavy boots. There were Alliance all around him-Gnomes and Humans and Night Elves and Draeni-with his own forces rushing to catch up. Varian was easily within arm’s reach, bisecting a Nerubian with an overzealous overhead cleave of Shalamayne, but striking the King down whilst he was unaware was the furthest concern from his mind. Obstacle that he might be between him and access to his mate, at current he was a doubled chance at getting to Anduin in time and that was more important.

Champions of both Factions were hacking through leaping ghouls as if they were built from matches. Crusaders were shattering the carapaces of more of the spider like Nerubians and reducing ice casting skeletons in tattered robes to piles of cloth and bone. The Death Knights among them were quick to engage the towering wards which emerged from shadowed hollows in the walls with the low juttering bellow of phantom alarms.

With Garrosh and Varian at the front of the pack they barreled into the iced over chamber on the other side. Blue-white sheets of stalactites cleaved to the walls and a set of Saronite ramps led up and away onto another floor but neither had much time to further consider their new surroundings.

A massive axe made of jagged bone shards bound together with the necrotic magic of the Scourge swung by with the sound and force of a passing tram. The long handle was clutched to by a pair of boney hands, which attached to skeletal arms leading to a floating ribcage sporting a set of flightless wings and a cornucopia of skulls.

The battle wasn’t an easy one-an addition to continued sweeping strikes of the axe they were forced to contend with impaling spikes of bone erupting from the ground and swaths of blue flame-but their numbers were such that the hellish amalgamation was overwhelmed.

Up the ramp, they found themselves confronted with what might as well have been a Death Cult mass. Tens of cultists knelt in the pews and a Lich stood, or rather floated, at the front of the room.

This one, at least, didn’t explode.

Being crammed onto a Scourge elevator, all but rubbing shoulders with Varian, was far from Garrosh’s idea of ideal and he was quick to head in the opposite direction from the Alliance. The _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ had docked on the opposite side of the Rampart of Skulls and the men who staged it were quick to begin the process of unfettering the airship the moment Garrosh had stepped onto the deck.

Varok Saurfang’s silvered form stood out stark against the gloom behind him as the older Orc approached. Dark eyes took in his blood splattered form with a modicum of disdain. “I hope that blood belongs to the Scourge and not the Alliance.”

“I’ve more pressing concerns than Wrynn and his dogs.” Garrosh spat, golden eyes locked on the dark walls of the citadel as it slowly passed by beside them. “What are you doing here, Saurfang? Don’t you have peons to babysit back at the Hold?”

“I’m here to find my son.”

“Your son is dead.”

“Or worse. I’m aware. But that doesn’t mean I should leave him here, in the Lich King’s clutches.” Saurfang said. “At least I’m not here for the Alliance’s Prince.”

“Weren’t you lecturing me just a month ago about not being so quick to wish to go to war?”

“Treating your enemy with the proper respect is not the same as welcoming them into your bed. Or seeking to be welcomed into theirs.” He said. “This is not the way you conquer Stormwind.”

“This has _nothing_ to do with Stormwind.”

“Orcs should mate with their own.” Didn’t he show his age with such views, never mind that Garrosh had thought similarly himself not long ago. “In your father’s day-.”

“The Old Horde is _dead_!”  The snarl was vicious, rolling across the decks of the gunship like distant thunder. More than a few of those nearby looked over but quickly looked away. “ _This_ is the new way.” Garrosh turned on his heel and disembarked the moment that the airship reached their destination.

The _Sky Breaker_ was already there, the forces which had staffed it-led by a ridiculous looking Dwarf in iced over blue armor-gathered around the fallen body of an Orcish Death Knight.

An Orcish Death Knight who, on closer examination, was easily recognizable.

“Dranosh!” Saurfang’s shout drew the attention of the Alliance, all of whom raised their weapons defensively.

“Back off, Orc.” The Dwarf growled. “We can’t let ye pass.”

“Behind you lies the body of my only son. Nothing will keep me from him.” The grizzled Orc said. “Not Arthas. Not you.”

“I’m sorry. Really, I am. But we have our orders ta hold this precipice against tha enemies of tha Alliance, not stopping at tha Scourge.” The Dwarf said. “Get back on yer gunship and leave. We won’t have ta hurt ya that way.”

Turn around? Leave Anduin dependent on his sniveling father and the mutts at his command to rescue him somewhere in the depths of the citadel? That wasn’t an option. Nor, clearly, was it an option for Varok.

But the damned Dwarf wasn’t going to do the smart thing and move aside. He was going to force a confrontation that would waste precious seconds and minutes which might save the little Omega from freezing to death because even without the intent to kill the undead likely hadn’t spared much thought to how easily a Human could freeze.

Garrosh doubted he’d ever be relieved to hear Varian Wrynn’s barked orders again; the High King appeared alongside Proudmoore in a flash of Arcane light and said “stand down, Muradin” in a tone which rang with unquestionable authority. “Let a grieving father pass.”

There was a drawn out pause in which all present turned to stare as if the Human had announced himself as the Elemental Lord of Fire, but then the Dwarf and his men moved reluctantly aside and allowed Varok to pass and lift Dranosh’s body into his arms. The watching Alliance regarded the traditional Orcish send off that he spoke as if it were a curse but a harsh glare from the King kept them quiet. When Varok shifted back to common it was to address Varian directly. “I thank you, Highness. I will not forget your…kindness.”

Still carrying the body, he started back towards the hovering form of the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ ; the stifled sound of sobbing rose above the gusting wind. Jaina was attempting to shield her face bnt it did little to conceal her red rimmed eyes.

“Jaina,” Varian sounded more exhausted than gentle, “why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing, your Majesty. Just,” she cracked a watery smile, “I’m proud of my King.”

Varian looked about as disgusted by the notion as Garrosh felt and quickly started towards the open door before them. “We don’t have time for this!”

They were met on the other side by an empty hallway booby trapped with skull shaped spigots which spewed blue mist cold enough to freeze flesh solid. After a handful of times stopping and starting to avoid being caught in any of the blasts, they put the boobytraps behind them and stood at the mouth of the heart of the citadel. A massive spire of glacial ice rose above and plunged below them, rapidly disappearing into hazy shadows. Saronite grates, bolted to a cross point connected to a teleportation pad presumably leading up to the Frozen Throne itself.

“We’ll need keys to activate it.” Jaina confirmed his suspicions on the matter. “Doubtlessly they’re held by the strongest remaining servants of the Lich King.”

“And as good a place to start as any would be the four alcoves this pathway leads to.” Varian said, then turned a harsh glare on Garrosh. “Don’t make me regret trusting your lot to take care of that half, Hellscream.”

He was stalking off towards the Plaguewerks with the Alliance in tow before Garrosh could respond.

Rather than snarl after him the Overlord called the force that he’d been left with-mostly Champions though a handful of his men from Warsong Hold were thrown into the mix-to order and headed towards the Frostwing Hall.

They joined an Ebon Death Knight and a handful of Argent Crusaders, and cut their way through the Vrykul who attempted to repel them, and then healed a captive Green Dragon until the beast could escape on its own, before descending via elevator to a lower floor. Here they were assaulted by a horde of Nerubians and another handful of Vrykul who emerged from a corridor which disappeared into the dark.

“Overlord Hellscream,” one of the Champions who’d come with them-a Blood Elf whose name he couldn’t be bothered to remember-said once their attackers had been reduced to severed limbs and armor fragments, “the way to the Frost Queen is open.”

“Then go deal with her.” He grunted, heading towards the corridor from which the Vrykul-living Vrykul who, though likely able to tolerate much colder temperatures than a Human, especially one as small as Anduin, would require more warmth than the majority of the citadel could provide to survive-had charged out of. “I’m going to search in here for the Princeling. I don’t require aid so don’t bother coming with me.”

He was out beyond the audible range of any complaints which they might have launched, taking winding corridors at a quick clip and finding turn after turn filled with closed doors. Something in him-something deeper, even, than the portion of his Alpha he was consciously aware of-knew that there was nothing of import behind those doors.

Until there was.

Saronite and runic locking mechanisms put up a considerable challenge to Gorehowl but Garrosh refused to be thwarted and after great effort managed to bust it down. ‘Palatial’ was the only word he could think of to describe it, though in so blatant a way that it was almost a mockery. At the center of the finely furnished room was a massive bed stacked high with thick white furs. Anduin lay splayed atop them, pale skin bare down the length of his body and tinted blue with cold. Unresponsive, his hazed eyes had locked themselves open.

The only thing which proved he was still alive was the slight rise and fall of his chest.

It was only once Garrosh swiftly crossed the room and tried to lift him that he noticed the Saronite chain and collar locked around his neck.

With enough force and time, he could have pummeled the metal into submission with his axe bnt there’d be no way for him to do so without killing the Omega who’d been forced to wear it. He’d need more delicate tools than he had to remove it, so no matter how offensive the sight of it was-almost as bad as another Alpha’s claim mark; a mark of ownership like what might be used on cattle-he had no choice but to leave it where it had settled along the Prince’s thin collarbone.

Severing the chain between two links, the Overlord wrapped the unresponsive Omega in three separate furs in an effort to keep him warm, restore his skin to a healthier color, and bundled him against his chest. Tucking his head beneath his chin and choosing to ignore how limp and quiet he was.

When he made it back to the _Orgrimm’s Hammer_ he proceeded down into the room he’d claimed as his during his time stuck on the ship and laid Anduin gently on the pallet there. Discarding Gorehowl and his armor and upper leathers for good measure-and curling around the Prince’s smaller form. Feeling him start to shiver, and then finally to sit, before letting out a piping whistle that cut to the bone.

It was Anduin’s Omega, rather than the Prince himself, squalling in his arms but he was safe. And awake. And for the time being that was more than enough. The much larger Alpha motored a sustained croon until the Prince relaxed and quieted. The chain clanking gently as he shifted closer still.

In that moment it didn’t matter that there was a great battle going on that he wasn’t a part of.

Needless to say, it wasn’t how the Overlord had envisioned ending up back in bed with his mate. That said, he was far from thrilled when Varian-followed, thankfully, by Jaina-came bursting into the room. Blue eyes shifted from his discarded chest plate to their position and the King’s face went from white to red to the deep purple indicative of rage but Garrosh spoke before the other man could act.

“Furs are useless when you’re so cold that your body isn’t producing its own heat anymore.” He growled. “When I found him, he was blue.”

However reluctantly the other Alpha would have gone the inescapable soundness of that logic would have diffused the tension which had fallen over the room had Anduin-still bound up in instinct and disturbed from his lethargic calm by both their loud entrance and the hostile spike of Alpha pheromones in the air-not chosen that moment to make a silvery warble of distress which was undeniably Omegan.

Varian, for a brief moment, went deathly still and then was stalking forwards with hostility in every facet of his posture. “You, _Orc_ ,” he spat, “will _not_ make _anyone_ aware of what he really is! Am I clear?”

Golden eyes glared up at him as the King continued to approach the pallet. “I want no part in your kind’s barbaric practices!”

The High King bared his teeth, scarred face twisted. “You know nothing about barbarism, Hellscream. You’d have to civilized for that and Orc’s _aren’t_!” He reached over to pull Anduin away. “Now, get your filthy hands off my son!”

The moment plated hands touched him, to the shock of all present, the little blonde spun around and snapped his teeth shut around his father’s thumb. Had it not been for his armored gloves the bite would have gone clear through to the bone.

“By the Light!” Varian’s yelp was one of surprise and not pain for all that that Prince increased the pressure of the bite to the fullest he was able, growling and hissing all the while. Though not as impressive or frightening as it would have been if he were an Alpha, it was still very plain that the little Omega both felt threatened and didn’t wish to be removed. “Anduin-.”

“That’s not Anduin,” Jaina said. “His Omega’s taken over. Likely as some sort of defense mechanism.”

“It doesn’t seem to like you much, Wrynn.” Garrosh’s tone was one of vindictive amusement. “I wonder why.”

Surprise once more gave way to an infuriated glare. “Everything I’ve done has been for the sake of protecting my son!”

“If you really wanted to ‘protect’ your son,” Garrosh snarled, drawing himself up to his full height, “you’d find him a mate within the _Horde_.”

Had the bed, with Anduin-jaws still locked on his thumb-atop it, not been between them Jaina had no doubt that Varian would have pounced him then and there. “ _Over! My! Dead! Body_!”

The look which the Overlord sent him then was deadpan, lips curling back over tusks into a brutal sneer. “My pleasure.”

“Varian,” knowing that she needed to act to diffuse the situation before blood could be drawn Jaina stepped in quickly, “we should take Anduin to Hearthglen so that the Healers there can see to him. There’s no way to know what he’s been put through. I can teleport us directly there so that no one unaware of his true identity will see him like this.”

Still glaring and still with the blonde latched on viciously Varian scooped Anduin-who immediately began to squirm and yowl-into his arms. “Let’s go.”

In a flash of vibrant Arcane light the three of them were gone.


	16. Epilogue

In the end there was no doubt that Anduin was a Wrynn, as very little else explained how an Omega-stereotypically seen as passive placid and sweet-could be so vicious for such a sustained period. After extensive hissing and snapping, three blooded scratches and five deep bites the decision had been made to put the Prince into an Arcane sleep until his surface self had recovered enough from the trauma that he’d gone through to reassert control. At that point Jaina had been asked to join the Healers for their scans-Varian, understandably but much to his chagrin, wasn’t able to be present as his constant aggressively nervous pacing had proved too much of a distraction-and after all was said and done, though it struck him as somewhat odd, it had been the Archmage who’d informed him of their discoveries.

Anduin was suffering from bruising, minor cuts and scrapes, moderate hypothermia and had undeniably been terrorized but hadn’t been abused-Varian tried to be relieved by that fact, but the likelihood that Arthas had simply been saving his son as some sort of trophy only made his blood boil more-and the trauma of it all, thankfully, hadn’t led to a stress imprinting.

He was left with the nebulous impression that Jaina had redacted something from their findings though couldn’t pinpoint what, or even truly justifying the instinct. Finally settling on being satisfied with the safe return of his last remaining family and that it was best to let the rest of it fall by the wayside Varian had consigned himself to holding silent vigil at the Prince’s bedside.

He was there for three days before the enchantment lifted and Anduin opened his eyes. Groggy gaze landing after a long moment’s befuddlement, on his father.

Before the Prince could speak Varian dragged him forward into a bone crushing hug. “Thank the Light! I thought I’d lost you!”

“Dad-.”

“For all that I said,” the King continued, still not releasing him, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have done what you did, Anduin. I wholly stand behind that fact and the fact that you should have known better. Still, I shouldn’t have handled it the way that I did. And I promise that I’ll do better in the future.” That he hoped there wouldn’t be need in the future to have to give him a similar talking to went unsaid.

“I’m sorry as well.” Anduin hung his head. “Not for what I did but for how I did it. I betrayed your trust and I deeply regret that.”

“I wish you’d have trusted me enough to know that the Alliance would have backed your investigation, even if the Argent Crusade would not.” Varian said. “You didn’t need to turn to _Hellscream._ Speaking of,” Anduin cringed, “I’m going to reiterate that I don’t want you near him, Anduin. If you absolutely must speak to him it will be briefly and while I’m present. _Never_ alone as I now how good reason to suspect he aims to attempt a courting.” There was a scoff to his voice, as if such matters were laughable. “You know better than to partner with an animal, but I don’t want a bad light being cast on you should it ever come out you were once pursued by an Orc. Never mind that it’s all but certainly a ploy to get to me.”

“Yes father.” Anduin said meekly, looking away. “We’re to return to Stormwind?”

The Prince both looked and sounded incredibly dejected. Varian heaved a heavy sigh. “I want you home in Elwynn. At least for a while. Until you’ve fully recovered from this and can bring your Omega back into line. Until I can be certain you’ll be safe.” The King said. “If after that you wish to resume your tutelage under Highlord Fordring you may return to the Crusade.

“Thank you, father.” It was an incredible relief to know that he’d been forgiven so quickly, if only because Varian had come so close to losing him, and had Anduin not been afflicted by such a bone deep exhaustion he’d have been able to properly express as much.

The King’s massive hand easily covered his own; there were scratches along the plating of his thumb the origin of which Anduin couldn’t place. For some reason looking at them made his teeth ache. “You won’t be anchored in Elwynn entirely.” He said. “In two months’ time Jaina is insisting upon us holding ‘peace talks’ in Theramore. It seems Orgrimmar is suffering a lack of lumber due to drought and Tyrande having cut them off from Ashenvale in the wake of what happened at the Wrathgate. Your Aunt believes that an exchange of Elwynn lumber for Durotar ore-specifically iron and copper-will help push things between our Factions in a direction other than war.”

“You doubt it?” he couldn’t help the small grin that pulled at his lips.

“Their brutish culture depends on violence. Even if I could be convinced to lay down Shalamayne and tolerate their presence in our world it takes two to end a war.” He grunted. “Though as I’ve already mentioned I’d prefer you to be kept well away from Hellscream as King in Waiting you need to be aware of how such proceedings are meant to unfold.”

“Hence why you’ve loosened your restrictions enough to allow interactions under watch?”

“And within earshot.” Varian said, a pinched expression on his face. “You may be…cordial.”

“Mildly friendly?” Anduin sent him a stern look when the King growled. “Father, he saved my life. A few times.”

“Mildly friendly.” Varian said. “ _Mildly!”_ After a drawn-out moment of staring for emphasis he sighed and changed the subject slightly. “Besides, I think it will be good for you to return to Dustwallow Marsh. To face your Demons. I know you’ve never fully gotten over what happened with Onyxia.”

The Prince tried and failed to suppress a shudder. Lightly, his father squeezed his hand.

“On a happier note, and as you’ll be pleased to hear for all that the House of Nobles won’t, Jaina’s gotten you a pet so your years of begging have finally paid off.”

Ah, the promised means of keeping in touch with Garrosh even while under lock and key. Anduin smiled. “What is it?”

A soft knock on the door of the small room he’d woken up in. Varian sighed again and shook his head. “Bring in the beast.”

“I wouldn’t let him hear you call him that.” Jaina closed the door behind her. Balanced on her staff was a massive bird, its white feathers speckled with flecks as dark as its eyes. “Kul Tiran Gyrfalcons are highly intelligent birds. And offshoots of the House Waycrest line, like this one, are fully capable of understanding Human speech.”

“Well, he started it.” Varian grumbled, only half joking.

“When he first saw your father, he hissed at him and tried to bite his hand.” Jaina explained to a confused Prince.

Anduin discretely covered up a snicker with a cough. “Well, he’s a very beautiful bird. Thank you, Aunt Jaina.” With the rustle of wings the Gyrfalcon took flight from her staff and settled instead on his shoulder. Taking a moment to glare at Varian before tugging lightly on a strand of Anduin’s hair. “Oh, hello.”

It clicked its beak in answer and pressed into his hand when he reached up to lightly touch its feathers.

“Well, I guess I’m your Human now. Since you’ve clearly claimed me. My name is Anduin, what’s yours?”

“He doesn’t have one yet.” Jaina said. “I thought you’d prefer to name him yourself.”

“Thank you, Aunt Jaina. As I’ve said already, he’s beautiful.” Turning his focus fully back onto the falcon on his shoulder, he said “I think I’ll call you…Fionn.”

The King snorted.

Anduin laughed. “What? Simplicity is a virtue. And unlike certain Nobles I have no time for pretentious names.”

Both his father and his adopted aunt shook their heads. “Only you, Anduin.”

The Crown Prince smiled. “If I could get an inkwell and some paper for later on tonight? I think I’d like to write a letter.”

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't be undated regularly, but it will eventually be finished: I still need to figure out what I'm going to do with Cruel World but I wanted a 'Garrosh/Anduin where vengeance and survival doesn't turn them both into cut throat monsters' and also wanted to do an A/B/O of some kind so here we are.
> 
> I figured that there would be notable differences between how the Alliance and Horde treated Alphas and Omegas, largely shaped by the cultural views of the Humans and Orcs respectively. For Humans Alphas are highly valued while Omega are essentially viewed as property and male omega are prized in brothels. Only an Alpha or Beta could be King. For Orcs Omega and Alpha are seen as equals and a balance to each other: the best leaders are either beta or a mated pair of alpha and omega which have balanced out each other's tendencies. The omega is the one largely in control of the courting process and typically chooses the alpha that's proved themselves the best from a group of suitors. For the Mag'har, less so the Orcs on Azeroth, an Omega's place is away from the front lines and having them fight or hunt for themselves is viewed typically as show of the fact that their alpha is incompetent.


End file.
